Goodies First

May 24

Friday

8:57am Marcona almonds.

10:28am After seeing my food laid out like this, I realized what a cheerless workaday existence I have. No wonder I’m always listless and cranky (I don’t know where the idea that cutting down carbs increases energy originated. Same with that wretched master cleanse that two friend are currently doing for reasons beyond comprehension. I don’t see how subsisting on liquid for 10 days could possibly give you so-called clarity.) So, I rectified that with a bagel and cream cheese. Oh yes, I’m cutting loose early for the holiday weekend. I have not partaken in my office’s “Bagel Friday” since February, but I don’t think a little fluffy bread every now and then is going to cause organ failure or something.

1:30pm That damn bagel threw off my schedule so now I’m back to fruit and vegetables. Ok, just apples. Um, plus I’m thinking of where to eat tonight and I haven’t Thai in ages and that will inevitably involve fried pork and lots of coconut milk so I have to cool my jets.

3:57pm I got to leave work at 3pm, so I picked up my recent inexplicable fascination, the vegetarian chicken salad sandwich at a deli in the neighborhood just in time to tune in to Judge Judy, and it was a freaking repeat. That is no way to kick off the weekend.

Huh, I just saw a commercial for Bagelfuls (I have bagels on the brain). Sure, the product is weird but I was more baffled by the two ladies featured in the ad eating said weird foodstuff while standing on a bus. Do white women in suits ride the bus to work? That’s not really been my experience in NYC which is more subway-oriented, nor Portland where only spazzes rode public transportation. The premise doesn’t ring true to me, but I would totally try a Bagelful is someone offered me one.

6:30pm Wasa crackers and “supremely spicy” hummus.

8-ish I haven’t been to Sripraphai since February when my sister was in town, so a visit was overdue. I can’t believe the crowds that have developed over the past few years. When we left there were at least 30 people outside waiting to get in. From a distance is looked like a club scene. I don’t like club scenes.

We went a little overboard with fried things. I probably ate half of the crispy watercress salad and a third of everything else.

Crispy watercress salad

Soft shell crab with chile and basil.

Crispy pork with chile and basil. Hmm…two chile and basil dishes weren't probably neccessary. The pork and crabs tasted very different, though. This was dry and rich while the crabs were saucier.

Green curry with duck. I never order plain ol' red or green curries, but this was better than expected and super spicy. Much more so than any of the other dishes. There were also sliced chiles, tomatoes and pineapple chunks in the mix.

Oh, and just one beer. I had a horrible headache all night and didn't feel like drinking, and that's just not like me.

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May 23

Thursday

10:30am Black coffee and a Kashi bar, peanut butter this time.

1:20pm Good ol’ Wasa crackers and Laughing Cow cheese. When I was a kid Laughing Cow cheese was a special treat that I only got when we went to the coast (Canon Beach) maybe once or twice a year. It seemed fancy at the time, gourmet, French, never mind that it’s not even real cheese (or is it? The fact that it doesn’t have to be refrigerated is kind of distressing). The processed cheese has certainly lost its allure for me over the years, especially since I can just buy it in bulk at Costco now.

2:10pm Chicken chowder and multigrain bread. I normally get the split pea with ham, so this was totally wild. Crazy.

6:43pm Leftover chicken from Tuesday.

9:40pm Chile-garlic shrimp and brown rice. This was tasty and vaguely Spanish tapas-ish (minus the brown rice) but I totally could’ve eaten double the amount.

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May 22

Wednesday

10:25am Trader Joe’s cranberry oatmeal and extra large black coffee. I’m convinced that my coffee cart guy totally did see me at a competitor yesterday because this morning he said, “long time, no see” and I swear there was a darkness to this seemingly benign pleasantry. I got nervous and offered, “oh, I got to work late yesterday,” which was true but not so late that I didn’t get coffee across on the other side of Broad St.

12:13pm This is the same apple pic from yesterday but the apple itself was slightly higher caliber. Still boring, though. In fact, my weekday food is almost always boring and I can’t say that I’m exactly thrilled about it. The monotony is bringing me down. But it tends to balance out weekend excess, which I haven’t got to yet. And being a three-day weekend, there's going to be trouble…

2:15pm “No Bread Grilled Chicken Provencal” from Pret a Manger. I am still not clear how this line differs from their salads. I hate paying $6.97 for a salad that’s not even giant, but I like this better than those pick a mix deals. Maybe I just pick poorly because mine always end up mediocre and the ratio of stuff to lettuce seems wrong—there’s no way so many things are remotely healthy (um, but it’s my fault for choosing heftier stuff like dried cranberries, almonds, blue cheese and smoked turkey).

4:50pm Yogurt with agave sweetener. Yep, repetitive. That's not really Pelligrino. Well, it was at one point, but I refill the bottle with tap water at home and water cooler water at work, and I usually hang on to it for 2-3 weeks. I really only drink water, and if I'm not drinking water I'm drinking alcohol. Those are my only two beverages. Oh, and coffee, but that's not like a beverage.

8:17pm Kashi TLC Mediterranean Bruschetta Party Crackers with manchego and assorted salumi, capicola and something else.

9:45pm Grilled steak, salad and miso dressing. I didn’t intend to eat two main course salads today and it’s totally inappropriate for the soggy weather. I really only can handle salads when it’s warm out. This wasn’t half-bad, and I managed to get it together in time to watch the American Idol winner announcement. Even though I don’t care for the show, I need to know who wins these things.

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May 21

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Ladies Who Lunch (and breakfast and dinner)

I’m afraid that those who obsess over what they eat online can be divided into two groups: food dorks and the eating disordered. The dreaded cheese sandwich crew and the girls who could stand to eat a grilled cheese.

Obviously, I’m not in the latter camp. Lady-style competitive eating—attempting to eat less than the women around you—disturbs me. This isn’t how I live and I can’t imagine being friends with anyone who freaks out over what’s on my plate or theirs.

Not that being judged for what you eat isn’t an unfounded fear. A study cited in the Allure article linked above had women read fake food diaries and rate the keepers. Unshockingly, the less a lady ate the more attractive and feminine she was deemed.

Perhaps that’s why unabashed eaters fascinate me. Food blogs have opened a window onto what people eat, but they really only show part of the equation, what the author wants you to see. I’ll admit that there’s a part of me that’s always been a little jealous and suspicious when I read about all the wonderful goodies ladies are enjoying (even more so now that I’m a frakking diabetic—oops, I can’t be the only one watching Battlestar Galactica, right?). What I call the Padma paradox. Are womenfolk really plowing through pork belly, tacos, ramen and macarons on a regular basis? I kind of hope not because that would be kind of depressing (for me, not them). What goes on off the blog, anyway?

To satisfy my nosiness and serve as an antidote to the salad, dressing on the side existence that is the American feminine ideal, I am starting a project, Ladies Who Lunch (and breakfast and dinner) to share what women who like to eat actually eat.

I’m not the most community-minded blogger but I would love to round up a variety of participants to showcase here weekly (and will be soliciting volunteers shortly). I will kick this week off myself because I have no shame, but this isn’t meant as a self-indulgent solo effort. I don’t care if you’re organic-only or a junk food glutton, I just want to focus on women who aren’t afraid of food.

Name: Krista Garcia
Age: 35
Occupation: Researcher/Writer
Location: Brooklyn, NY
Blog: Goodies First (duh)

Tuesday

7:57am I’m not normally awake this early and don’t eat until I’m at
the office but I had to get my blood taken at 9am and I’m a minor freak
about needles (though a hundred times better than I was in my teens) so
illogically I thought eating a few peanuts might keep me from getting
light headed. Black coffee.

11:28am Kashi TLC trail mix bar and extra large black coffee.
Normally, I go to the Bulgarian coffee cart guy in front of Starbucks
but my morning was all screwed up because of a doctors appointment and
coming from the 5 train put me at a Latino-run cart with Styrofoam
cups. Odd (the cups and the owners—I’ve always had middle
Eastern/Eastern European coffee guys). I swear I saw my coffee guy see
me getting coffee on the opposite corner or maybe I just have coffee
cart loyalty guilt.

1:32pm This apple was disgusting, mealy with skin that was peeling
off. I don’t even like fruit on a good day so this bad specimen wasn’t
doing his ilk any favors.

3:44pm Greek yogurt with a drizzle of agave sweetener. I guess this
is my lunch though it doesn’t feel very substantial. I will be sorry
later that I didn’t leave my desk for something tastier.

5:35pm I call Wasa crackers giraffe crackers because when I was kid
you could buy crackers to feed giraffes from vending machines at the
zoo, and I swear they looked like this. They probably tasted better,
too. I eat a lot of giraffe crackers because I’m laying off the bread
but I probably overcompensate imagining that all the fiber somehow
makes it ok.

7:05pm Piece of salami, slice of manchego, two more giraffe crackers and some hummus remnants.

8:57pm Leftovers from last night. Red-cooked chicken, bok choy sautéed with garlic and chile bean oil and brown rice.

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May 21

Grayz

Grayz is very much a grown up restaurant, though that Z at the end has always struck me as an ill conceived youthful affectation. It only recently occurred to me that it’s a homophone, tweaking the chef’s surname to play on the on the small plates grazing concept. Ok, I get it, but I’m still not crayzee about the name.

So, Grayz is grown up in that they serve pricey fancies masquerading as bar snacks (and that the average diner’s age prime time Saturday hovered in the 50s). I’m not in the habit of dropping $39 on finger food (rebate check burning a hole in my pocket or not) but I found my cobbled together dinner more enjoyable, or should I say awesome (it was our waitress’s favorite adjective) than expected. Civilized has its place every now and then.

James insisted the room reminded him of some Atlantic City Trump restaurant where we had a middle-of-the-night burger a few Fourth of Julys ago. There were some tame chandeliers, mini-banquettes and recessed lighting peeking out of undulating ceiling cutouts but I wouldn’t call the earth toned townhouse garish. It’s not my taste, but it’s hardly Trumpy.

I’ve been obsessed with crème de violette, mostly because of its intense color. I meant to track some down around Christmas to make an Aviation but never got around to it, so I was happy to see this cocktail on their list. It’s hard to tell from the photo (the dim lighting was murder, as you can see) but the color is a pale ever so slight periwinkle. I was expecting a cherry, but they garnished with orange peel. The flavor was more bitter than sweet, in a quinine way, but my taste could’ve been skewed from sucking so many sugar free cough drops last week.

Bread basket with yogurt dipping sauce. The herbs might’ve been fresh oregano.

Complimentary lamb sausage amuse. The fluff was similar to baba ghanoush.

What I hadn’t anticipated was how Asian many of the ingredients and preparations would be. A special involving the words fish and dumplings caught our attention, but these little patties were straight up tod mun pla. Funny, because fish cake would’ve kept me away—they’re one of the only Thai treats that I’m ho hum on.

Ceviche was composed of kampachi and fluke squiggles rather than chunks or slices. The citrus was meyer lemon, which kept the acid level tame.

Weisswurst was a fun diversion. Why not plump ghostly sausages with sweet mustard? I wisely lost my carb consciousness for a warm pretzel.

Here’s the $39 prize. Well, they were very satisfying short ribs, but yeah, spendy. The sauce was flavored with tarragon and horseradish but I swear garam masala was hiding in the mix. There was a distinct earthy Indian quality to the beef.

We probably didn’t need a dessert, especially since I wasn’t bowled over by what I ordered anyway. I’m old fashioned about sweets and when I hear white chocolate brownie I envision homey and rich. This creation was sharp and crumbly like eating shortbread and pineapple. If I had known that we were going to be gifted with two truffles (coconut and possibly passion fruit) and a tuile at meal’s end, I would’ve skipped this course.

Read my extremely condensed version for nymag.com

Grayz * 13 W. 54th St., New York, NY

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May 20

Someone Just Fell Off the Turnip Truck

Purple carrots and blue potatoes are hardly a new story (rainbow produce was new to me six years ago and I’m sure it wasn’t new then) and mildly strange for the Wall Street Journal treatment, but unnaturally colored food is one of my passions, so I’ll admit that their slideshow is fun to watch.

Recently, I noticed that they even have bright orange cauliflower at crazy cheap Rossman Farms, my go to conventionally grown produce (and Sabra hummus) source. They also have rainbow chard at Fairway. Vibrantly hued vegetables are now totally mainstream it seems.

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May 19

Saint Germain

I don’t brunch even in the most brunchy of neighborhoods so finding someplace inoffensive to eat a late breakfast/early lunch in Bay Ridge kind of threw me. No, it didn’t have to be Bay Ridge or nothing but I’d decided to take the exciting task of finding a new kitchen trashcan to Brooklyn’s Century 21. Why not combine such fun with a nearby meal?

We were quoted 45 minutes at Tanoreen, my first choice. And if I’ve learned anything about estimated waits it’s that they always exceed reality (except at chain restaurants where they’re eerily accurate). I got out of there pronto.

We naively crossed the street to check out some nondescript place across the street but had the crap scared out of us by a sea of neighborhood Mother’s Day prix-fixers. Without reservations we were offered a table through two dining rooms, in a tent on a heated patio. That was not going to work either.

After a drive and a walk we ended up at Saint Germain, a cute, well-intentioned café with good enough food and frighteningly scatterbrained service. As long as you’re not in a hurry it’s fine, and with only garbage can finding on my agenda, this was within the realm of acceptability.

This also appeared to be a Mother’s Day hotspot but we weren’t forced into any mandatory set menu. We did opt for the prix fixe, though, which includes eggy things and croque monsieurs, coffee, fresh-squeezed juice (at least I think) and a dessert from the glass case near the door. For $16.95 you might expect a morning eye-opener, but mimosas and the like (I don’t understand mojitos and caiparinhas at Frenchie bistros) were extra, and frankly, a drink was the last thing I needed.

I expected a dainty omelet but this was American in proportions. Really it was more egg than anything and not overstuffed in the least. Thinly sliced ham, melting brie and large tangles of spinach stayed tidy and tucked inside. The combination was pleasant but I regretted not ordering something with hollandaise. Since I never eat breakfast food I like doing it was gusto. The potatoes were surprisingly good and unmealy. In fact, they almost tasted deep-fried they were so crispy.

The post meal dessert seemed to be their calling card; everyone appeared genuinely excited to get up and peek in the case to make their big decision. The rational part of me wasn’t going to partake in that course but after seeing all of the little cakes and pastries I lost my nerve and joined in.

Hopelessly unnatural or not, I love the vivid fake greens used to signify pistachio. The marizipan-like goo’s sweetness was offset by the pears, which were more fruity texture than cloying. I think it was a good use of sugar, carbs and all that.

Because I know you’re wondering, Century 21 was a bust. You have no idea how difficult it is finding a simple Rubbermaid-like foot pedal garbage canister and not one of those $100+ stainless steel ones. Already on a ridiculous goose chase, we ended up at the polar opposite of Carroll Gardens: bizarre planned community Starrett City, home to the borough’s only Bed Bath & Beyond. Oh, and the only Tuscan-style Olive Garden I’ve ever seen in the city (yes, I'm obsessed with America's Tuscan obsession). It was worth the journey for a peep at that stone-clad monstrosity, alone.

Saint Germain * 8303 Third Ave., Brooklyn, NY

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May 18

Unguilty Pleasure

I not only love old-fashioned chicken salad (light on the mayo, though—I’ve only shed my fear of the thick white condiment in recent years), but practically any permutation, Kosher vegetarian included.

These Healthy Korner pitas are inexplicably tasty. How can boring carrots, cabbage, celery, eggless mayonnaise and brown rice syrup (whatever that is) meld into a creamy, crunchy and satisfying light meal?

Carnivores and herbivores have been known to find the whole mock meat thing gross, but I love the chewy texture of pseudo proteins. Vegetarian Dim Sum House has mastered the Chinese approach, which appeals to my Asian food love.

But I don’t stop there. I have no love for hippies yet I’m a sucker for weird health food store prepackaged sandwiches. And as much as I like to rip on Oregon, I do miss the occasional Bhima Power Burger. I wish you could buy The Higher Taste products here. This isn’t the type of food I want to eat for dinner but I would take it over the deli salads and boring crap I normally eat for lunch.

I do draw the line at raw parsnip pinenut sushi, however.

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May 17

There’s a Yakov Smirnoff Joke in Here Somewhere

It says something (what, I’m not sure) when Siberia gets an Ikea before NYC.

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May 13

La Mancha

La Mancha’s the weirdest place. It almost feels hidden in plain sight or at least ignored, not innovative enough to ride the Spanish new wave and lacking the history and rundown charm of the West Village holdouts. The food is straightforward, hearty, a bit stodgy and not inexpensive (though portions are generous). I felt kind of bad for not returning in over three years, though I never have such guilt over avoiding also nearby Smith Street restaurants.

And after having lackluster dining experiences the past two Saturdays, I was determined to have a pleasant evening this weekend and thankfully succeeded (three glasses of Tempranillo might’ve helped--I did notice my photos becoming progressively blurry, a final interior shot was completely unfocused and useless). James is the one who declared Ghenet and Kimchi Hana to be busts and insisted on making 9pm reservations this time, despite my protests that this was strange and unnecessary.

The room couldn’t possibly be teeming and it wasn’t. Maybe 40% full, there was a family with small children, one couple, one solo diner, a few groups and then a foursome who stomped in loudly and a woman in their party proceeded to fall out of her chair. Were they drunk? Or at least that’s what I thought until I realized it had collapsed beneath her, which normally might be funny but somehow wasn’t especially when I noticed how wobbly mine was too.

Pickled vegetables, like giardiniera (I just like that word because it’s so close to giardia) but probably escabeche to be properly Spanish.

Green salad with an aioli dressing comes with entrees. This touch, as well as the warm bread with little foil-topped plastic packets of butter is what make the meal seem fusty. These are trademarks I associate with an older audience, requisites that are expected of a sit down restaurant dinner.

Picada, a tapas sampling worked out well because ordering three individual items would’ve been too much to spend and eat. Jamon Serrano, nicely fatty around the edges and not paper thin either. I’m reminded of how salty and boring prosciutto is when compared to meaty, substantial Serrano. I’m honestly not sure what makes a ham prosciutto or Serrano and if it’s related to the pig or the processing (I’ve fantasized about curing my own ham, and it looks like a fellow Brooklynite recently did just that). Triangles of manchego, green olives and sautéed garlicky chorizo rounded out the plate.

I just wasn’t swayed by any of the meat-centric entrees, which revolved around veal, chicken or steak. They might be good but descriptions involving wine, garlic and olive oil (yes Spanish, staples) just seemed kind of blah and continental. We went the obvious route with paella Valenciana.

It was a fair enough rendition, the grains of rice neither mushy nor overly firm, with plenty of chorizo, clams and octopus. I always worry about dry chicken (when I’m eating it, not all the time) and yes, the hunks of breast meat had a little too much life cooked out of them. The serving for two easily could’ve fed a few more if you were sharing other main dishes.

The food isn’t dazzling, but the mood is easygoing and service friendly. It’s resolutely a neighborhood joint and I wouldn’t want to fool anyone into thinking it’s a destination restaurant. But as far as the Henry/Atlantic nexus is concerned, you could do much worse.

I later trotted across the BQE onramp and over to the weirdo side of Carroll Gardens that's only three blocks from my apartment (no, that's not Red Hook) where stroller madness in bars has yet take hold, and for good reason: the hodgepodge area is brimming with old school freaks. While sipping a few pints of Brooklyn Lager at Moonshine, I was fascinated by brothers who had to take turns coming and going due to restraining orders. But most baffling and frightening was the human personification of Carl from Aqua Teen Hunger Force. I’ve never heard such a pitch perfect voice, yet with a ponytail attached to the balding noggin.

Thankfully, he wasn’t harassing me because I’m old and attached, but the ladies sitting at the bar next to me got a detailed cooking lesson about how to make a steak (add balsamic vinegar) and mashed potatoes (don’t use a blender). This imagined meal riled up Carl, he got all crazed and spouted, “I want to take a bite out of crime…and you’re crime!” then after a pause, “But not in a sexual way.” Because that would just be wrong. (5/11/08)

Friday

Thursday

Wednesday

Ladies Who Lunch (and breakfast and dinner)

Grayz

Someone Just Fell Off the Turnip Truck

Saint Germain

Unguilty Pleasure

There’s a Yakov Smirnoff Joke in Here Somewhere

La Mancha

Featured

Occasional Instagramming

Yes, it’s come to this

My Other Blogs

What?

The Past Will Haunt You

Pigeonholing 101