MorningCoffee + Bagel w/ Tofu Cream Cheese
Noon
Leftover Pasta w/ Pesto, Tomatoes & Mushrooms
Night
Bagel Stick + Egg Whites on Spelt Rye Toast w/ Cheddar
Friday, August 31, 2007
{The Menu - 08.31.07}
MorningCoffee + Bagel w/ Tofu Cream Cheese
Noon
Leftover Pasta w/ Pesto, Tomatoes & Mushrooms
Night
Bagel Stick + Egg Whites on Spelt Rye Toast w/ Cheddar
Thursday, August 30, 2007
RECIPE! Classic Pesto
A SWEET SMELL wafted through the office this afternoon. Several folks started a communal attempt to place the scent, but Briana and I suspected the same thing and kept our mouths shut. After all, one doesn't normally expect basil to barge into the office on a quiet Thursday afternoon. But basil it was, or at least it smelled like.What business does basil have on the 33rd floor of the Hearst Tower? None that we know of, but it certainly served as inspiration. With six now-rather-large stalks of the stuff shooting up towards my kitchen ceiling, the time had clearly arrived to quit plucking off leaves one-by-one and go for some gusto--time for pesto!
This is not really much of a recipe but it's far less intensive than the exceedingly authentic Italian technique offered by Heidi over at 101Cookbooks.com, which I've admittedly been meaning to attempt for some time. For lack of a proper mezzaluna, I'll settle for a food processor. As for the rest of it:
Pine nuts
Basil leaves
Olive oil
Garlic
Salt
Pepper
I'm sorry, you wanted exact measurements? Well I don't have those. I didn't use them, so you don't have to either. A few pointers, though:
As 101Cookbooks points out, chopping is preferred to processing because it "prevents the ingredients from becoming a completely homogenized emulsion or paste." You can, however, take steps to keep your pesto from stooping to such slush even when utilizing electricity and a fast-spinning knife. First, let your basil leaves dry fully after rinsing them. Second, don't blend for too long--keep the bursts quick and as short as possible. Third, chop up the pine nuts with a little bit of garlic first, then adding the basil leaves and chopping very briefly until the leaves are just broken down. Drizzle a little olive oil, throw a bit of salt and pepper over the mixture, and quickly chop once more. Done and done.
As 101Cookbooks points out, chopping is preferred to processing because it "prevents the ingredients from becoming a completely homogenized emulsion or paste." You can, however, take steps to keep your pesto from stooping to such slush even when utilizing electricity and a fast-spinning knife. First, let your basil leaves dry fully after rinsing them. Second, don't blend for too long--keep the bursts quick and as short as possible. Third, chop up the pine nuts with a little bit of garlic first, then adding the basil leaves and chopping very briefly until the leaves are just broken down. Drizzle a little olive oil, throw a bit of salt and pepper over the mixture, and quickly chop once more. Done and done.
I used thick spirals of whole wheat pasta for this, and threw in some chunks of tomato and mushrooms along with small mozzarella balls and brought the leftovers along with me to work the next day. There was even pesto enough leftover to freeze for another day. The basil, of course, is still growing strong. I'm gonna need some more inspiration.
{The Menu - 08.30.07}
MorningCoffee + Bagel w/ Tofu Cream Cheese
Noon
Cafe 57, New York, NY
Night
Whole Wheat Pasta w/ Pesto
Noon
Cafe 57, New York, NY
Night
Whole Wheat Pasta w/ Pesto
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
{The Menu - 08.29.07}
MorningCoffee + Bagel w/ Peanut Butter
Noon
Cafe 57, New York, NY
Night
Zen Palate, New York, NY
Noon
Cafe 57, New York, NY
Night
Zen Palate, New York, NY
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
{The Menu - Happy Birthday Mom!}
MorningCoffee + Bagel w/ Tofu Cream Cheese
Noon
Cafe 57, New York, NY + Peach
Night
Bowl O' Cereal w/ Blueberries
In The Beginning
The following is an excerpt from One For Sorrow, the debut novel from Chris Barzak released today by Bantam. It's all part of Chris Barzak World Domination Day, to which I submitted early this morning. Enjoy.
THERE WAS THIS KID I USED TO KNOW WHO ALWAYS sat in class with his head propped up in one hand. He always looked tired or mad about something, or sometimes just sad.
His name was Jamie Marks. But everyone called him Moony.
I'm not sure when or where or why he got the name, but I think it had something to do with him being fifteen years old and still a Boy Scout. It wasn't a good nickname or anything, and I sometimes wondered why, when guys in the eleventh and twelfth grades would sometimes shout in the hallways, "Hey, Moony! Moony Marks!" and laugh like idiots, Jamie didn't do anything to stop them. He'd just pretend like he hadn't heard. Sometimes there'd be a scuffle. One of the jerks wouldn't be satisfied with his silence, so they'd push him into a locker and say stupid shit like, "Speak when you're spoken to, Moony!" But he must have been a Boy Scout through and through, because he never did anything in retaliation. He just slid further down into the bottom of his existence, far away where they couldn't reach him.
When we were freshmen we started sitting next to each other in our computer classes. I didn't understand computers much beyond playing games on them, so he sometimes helped me. I never asked. Whenever he saw me stuck, he'd just offer his services. His voice was soft, not hard like I'd imagined it would be after everything. He was a good kid, really. I wished I knew how to be friends with him.
That summer I turned fifteen, and when fall came around again, I was put on the varsity cross-country team. I was a good runner. I did a mile in under four and a half minutes. My mother always called meher bolt of lightning. Then she'd tell the same old story again, the one about how I was born after forty hours of labor and how my lungs were undersized and there was a murmur in my heart. "The doctors didn't think you'd live," she'd tell me, or whoever happened to be around to listen. "But you were a fighter, my brave boy. You always fought to live."
I suppose I should probably say a word or two about my mother and the rest of my family.
We live in a white, one-story ranch house on a back road of a small town in Ohio. My father built the house right after he and my mom married, with some help from a few of his friends. He was a construction worker, proud of the buildings his hands brought into existence. When we drove around the countryside or through one of the nearby towns, he'd point out places he'd had a hand in making. He'd say things like, "Did the closets in that one," and would point out my window, his finger drifting in front of my face. I never knew what he was trying to tell me, so I'd just nod, considering the fine black hairs that curled along his arm. It didn't matter how I responded. Most of the time, my dad never had much to say.
My mom, on the other hand, is a talker. She could outtalk anyone, except maybe my grandma.
Mostly she has a good bit of advice or a word of encouragement for everyone. Usually she's in good spirits, unless she and my dad have fought, and when that happens she can be black for days and everyone knows to stay away. I remember in one of her worst moments she stopped me on my way to my room and said, "Don't ever put your happiness in someone else's hands. They'll drop it. They'll drop it every time." She'll always come around eventually, her smile settled back on her face like an advertisement for happiness, but I never believed in that smile except when I was a little kid and didn't know better. I learned early that smiles lie.
Along with my parents is my brother, Andy. He's two years older than me. He was a senior when I started running on the varsity track team. Sometimes teachers called me his name and, after realizing their mistake, said, "I'm sorry. Adam. Adam McCormick. Let's hope you're a bit more serious than your brother."
I'm a bit more serious, I guess. All of my teachers realized that quickly. Soon after their initial worry over me being like Andy, who was known for being a part of what you might call the burnout heavy metal crowd that cut class and always smelled like pot, they started making remarks on essays I wrote or on tests I'd taken that said, "Very good, Adam! You're on the right track! Keep it up!"
This was before all of the bad stuff started to happen. Or I should say this was before all of the bad stuff started to happen that had been coming into existence for years beforehand. It's just that none of us recognized it at first. Or I should say it's just that none of us recognized it except my grandma, who died in the spring when I was still fourteen and a freshman in high school. She'd come to live with us after my grandpa died of lung cancer and she'd been with us for a year when I went into her bedroom one morning to wake her for breakfast and found her dead.
Before she died, we'd gotten used to my grandma predicting a great misfortune coming. She always had odd sayings and rhymes to explain anything out of the ordinary. My parents said she was from the old country and never gave up that kind of thinking, but I always thought what she said made a sort of sense. And what she'd been saying for several months before she died was, "God's finger is coming. I see it in the sky. If you people aren't careful, he's going to pick you out for sadness."
To me she said, "If you see his finger coming, boy, run. Run as fast and as far away as you can. Understand?"
I nodded and she smiled, the wrinkles in her face folding. She patted my hand. The skin on her palms was soft and felt like it would slide right off her bones. I sat on the edge of her bed and said, "I'll run as fast and as far away as possible. I'll keep my eyes out for God's finger. I promise."
THERE WAS THIS KID I USED TO KNOW WHO ALWAYS sat in class with his head propped up in one hand. He always looked tired or mad about something, or sometimes just sad.
His name was Jamie Marks. But everyone called him Moony.
I'm not sure when or where or why he got the name, but I think it had something to do with him being fifteen years old and still a Boy Scout. It wasn't a good nickname or anything, and I sometimes wondered why, when guys in the eleventh and twelfth grades would sometimes shout in the hallways, "Hey, Moony! Moony Marks!" and laugh like idiots, Jamie didn't do anything to stop them. He'd just pretend like he hadn't heard. Sometimes there'd be a scuffle. One of the jerks wouldn't be satisfied with his silence, so they'd push him into a locker and say stupid shit like, "Speak when you're spoken to, Moony!" But he must have been a Boy Scout through and through, because he never did anything in retaliation. He just slid further down into the bottom of his existence, far away where they couldn't reach him.
When we were freshmen we started sitting next to each other in our computer classes. I didn't understand computers much beyond playing games on them, so he sometimes helped me. I never asked. Whenever he saw me stuck, he'd just offer his services. His voice was soft, not hard like I'd imagined it would be after everything. He was a good kid, really. I wished I knew how to be friends with him.
That summer I turned fifteen, and when fall came around again, I was put on the varsity cross-country team. I was a good runner. I did a mile in under four and a half minutes. My mother always called meher bolt of lightning. Then she'd tell the same old story again, the one about how I was born after forty hours of labor and how my lungs were undersized and there was a murmur in my heart. "The doctors didn't think you'd live," she'd tell me, or whoever happened to be around to listen. "But you were a fighter, my brave boy. You always fought to live."
I suppose I should probably say a word or two about my mother and the rest of my family.
We live in a white, one-story ranch house on a back road of a small town in Ohio. My father built the house right after he and my mom married, with some help from a few of his friends. He was a construction worker, proud of the buildings his hands brought into existence. When we drove around the countryside or through one of the nearby towns, he'd point out places he'd had a hand in making. He'd say things like, "Did the closets in that one," and would point out my window, his finger drifting in front of my face. I never knew what he was trying to tell me, so I'd just nod, considering the fine black hairs that curled along his arm. It didn't matter how I responded. Most of the time, my dad never had much to say.
My mom, on the other hand, is a talker. She could outtalk anyone, except maybe my grandma.
Mostly she has a good bit of advice or a word of encouragement for everyone. Usually she's in good spirits, unless she and my dad have fought, and when that happens she can be black for days and everyone knows to stay away. I remember in one of her worst moments she stopped me on my way to my room and said, "Don't ever put your happiness in someone else's hands. They'll drop it. They'll drop it every time." She'll always come around eventually, her smile settled back on her face like an advertisement for happiness, but I never believed in that smile except when I was a little kid and didn't know better. I learned early that smiles lie.
Along with my parents is my brother, Andy. He's two years older than me. He was a senior when I started running on the varsity track team. Sometimes teachers called me his name and, after realizing their mistake, said, "I'm sorry. Adam. Adam McCormick. Let's hope you're a bit more serious than your brother."
I'm a bit more serious, I guess. All of my teachers realized that quickly. Soon after their initial worry over me being like Andy, who was known for being a part of what you might call the burnout heavy metal crowd that cut class and always smelled like pot, they started making remarks on essays I wrote or on tests I'd taken that said, "Very good, Adam! You're on the right track! Keep it up!"
This was before all of the bad stuff started to happen. Or I should say this was before all of the bad stuff started to happen that had been coming into existence for years beforehand. It's just that none of us recognized it at first. Or I should say it's just that none of us recognized it except my grandma, who died in the spring when I was still fourteen and a freshman in high school. She'd come to live with us after my grandpa died of lung cancer and she'd been with us for a year when I went into her bedroom one morning to wake her for breakfast and found her dead.
Before she died, we'd gotten used to my grandma predicting a great misfortune coming. She always had odd sayings and rhymes to explain anything out of the ordinary. My parents said she was from the old country and never gave up that kind of thinking, but I always thought what she said made a sort of sense. And what she'd been saying for several months before she died was, "God's finger is coming. I see it in the sky. If you people aren't careful, he's going to pick you out for sadness."
To me she said, "If you see his finger coming, boy, run. Run as fast and as far away as you can. Understand?"
I nodded and she smiled, the wrinkles in her face folding. She patted my hand. The skin on her palms was soft and felt like it would slide right off her bones. I sat on the edge of her bed and said, "I'll run as fast and as far away as possible. I'll keep my eyes out for God's finger. I promise."
I, For One, Am In For Sorrow
I'VE GIVEN IN.
It's all one can really do in the face of such a daunting spectacle: Chris Barzak World Domination Day. And to think that but a few weeks ago I knew nothing of this day, Chirs Barzak or his debut novel, One For Sorrow, content to go about my happy, hungry, little life. Then a comment, a friendly request, and here we are--dominated.
One For Sorrow is released today through Bantam, accomplishment enough for any writer of fiction, slightly staggering given the fact that this is Mr. Barzak's first novel to be published period. Throw in a cover quote from the esteemed (and much beloved by Brooklynites) Jonathan Letham, and you've got the makings of a fine few-hundred pages indeed. Still, were it not for The Stage, I never would have known.
Or, thanks to Ms. Brooke, to be more specific, at The Stage, which sits in Younstown, Ohio, where I've eaten many-a-time at University Pizza across the street from Youngstown State University, which is where my mother teaches, as does, coincidentally enough, Mr. Barzak. And I believe we've somehow come full-circle. I think. If so, then perhaps its more appropriate to say University Pizza is responsible for this mess, but the point remains: it took a lot of people and pizza for me to find out about One For Sorrow. But here's where I tighten the circle for you.
One For Sorrow is a book about sadness, grief, and acceptance. All of the pieces are there in the first pages Mr. Barzak sets forth--warnings, questions, and the uneasily familiar childhood memories of protagonist Adam McCormick. His sadness, looking back, exposes smiles for what they are and no doubt goes a long way to unraveling the crime at Sorrow's core.
Stick around, and you'll find excerpts from One For Sorrow posted throughout the day. The links on the left will grow as well, as the expected blog-blitz for Mr. Barzak's book should be far greater than the few selected sites showing would indicate. After all, it's Chris Barzak World Domination Day. Submit.
It's all one can really do in the face of such a daunting spectacle: Chris Barzak World Domination Day. And to think that but a few weeks ago I knew nothing of this day, Chirs Barzak or his debut novel, One For Sorrow, content to go about my happy, hungry, little life. Then a comment, a friendly request, and here we are--dominated.
One For Sorrow is released today through Bantam, accomplishment enough for any writer of fiction, slightly staggering given the fact that this is Mr. Barzak's first novel to be published period. Throw in a cover quote from the esteemed (and much beloved by Brooklynites) Jonathan Letham, and you've got the makings of a fine few-hundred pages indeed. Still, were it not for The Stage, I never would have known.
Or, thanks to Ms. Brooke, to be more specific, at The Stage, which sits in Younstown, Ohio, where I've eaten many-a-time at University Pizza across the street from Youngstown State University, which is where my mother teaches, as does, coincidentally enough, Mr. Barzak. And I believe we've somehow come full-circle. I think. If so, then perhaps its more appropriate to say University Pizza is responsible for this mess, but the point remains: it took a lot of people and pizza for me to find out about One For Sorrow. But here's where I tighten the circle for you.
One For Sorrow is a book about sadness, grief, and acceptance. All of the pieces are there in the first pages Mr. Barzak sets forth--warnings, questions, and the uneasily familiar childhood memories of protagonist Adam McCormick. His sadness, looking back, exposes smiles for what they are and no doubt goes a long way to unraveling the crime at Sorrow's core.
Stick around, and you'll find excerpts from One For Sorrow posted throughout the day. The links on the left will grow as well, as the expected blog-blitz for Mr. Barzak's book should be far greater than the few selected sites showing would indicate. After all, it's Chris Barzak World Domination Day. Submit.
Monday, August 27, 2007
{The Menu - 08.27.07}
MorningCoffee + Bagel w/ Tofu Cream Cheese
Noon
Whole Foods, New York, NY
Night
Cereal + Peach
Sunday, August 26, 2007
{The Menu - 08.26.07}
MorningCoffee
Noon
Bagel w/ Peanut Butter + Peach
Night
Veggie Burger w/ Tomato & Cheddar + Pasta
Noon
Bagel w/ Peanut Butter + Peach
Night
Veggie Burger w/ Tomato & Cheddar + Pasta
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Hungry for Rock? (Or Pancakes?)
The Diner
44 Ninth Avenue
New York, NY 10011
(212) 627-2230
WHAT ROCK FESTIVAL boasts thirteen bands performing thirteen one-off songs in just under two hours? The Willie Mae Girls Rock Camp Showcase! (Think School of Rock, only all girls and no Jack Black.)
At the invitation of Rock Camp counselor Marisa, who took a whole week off work to teach drums and coach bands at the camp, Mint and I checked out the afternoon show at NYC's Highline Ballroom. If you ever forget what an unabashed love for music is supposed to sound like--this is it. Ages 8-18, most band members picking up their respective instruments for the first time seven days before the show, these girls rocked out. And was impossible not to love it.
Afterwards, Mint and I joined a handful of counselors for brunch at The Diner nearby, the generically-named neighborhood spot on the northeast corner of Ninth Avenue and 14th Street. Mint was ho-hum with her turkey burger verdict, but my goat cheese and arugula omelet was huge if not over-stuffed with deliciousness. And for Chelsea-Meatpacking District, the prices weren't half-bad. Of course, any place that offers me pancakes 24/7 gets two thumbs up as far as I'm concerned.
At the invitation of Rock Camp counselor Marisa, who took a whole week off work to teach drums and coach bands at the camp, Mint and I checked out the afternoon show at NYC's Highline Ballroom. If you ever forget what an unabashed love for music is supposed to sound like--this is it. Ages 8-18, most band members picking up their respective instruments for the first time seven days before the show, these girls rocked out. And was impossible not to love it.
Afterwards, Mint and I joined a handful of counselors for brunch at The Diner nearby, the generically-named neighborhood spot on the northeast corner of Ninth Avenue and 14th Street. Mint was ho-hum with her turkey burger verdict, but my goat cheese and arugula omelet was huge if not over-stuffed with deliciousness. And for Chelsea-Meatpacking District, the prices weren't half-bad. Of course, any place that offers me pancakes 24/7 gets two thumbs up as far as I'm concerned.
MIKE EATS NEXT TIME: How often do I find myself in Chelsea on a Saturday morning (or late-night, for that matter)? Not often. But I'd certainly consider stopping by for lack of another destination.
{The Menu - 08.25.07}
MorningCoffee + Bowl O' Cereal
Noon
Rock 'n' Roll +
Chelsea Diner, New York, NY
Night
Dried Cranberries
Noon
Rock 'n' Roll +
Chelsea Diner, New York, NY
Night
Dried Cranberries
Friday, August 24, 2007
{The Menu - 08.24.07}
MorningCoffee + Blueberry Pancake
Noon
Peach + Dried Cranberries + Toast w/ Peanut Butter
Night
Sapporo Haru, Brooklyn, NY
Noon
Peach + Dried Cranberries + Toast w/ Peanut Butter
Night
Sapporo Haru, Brooklyn, NY
Thursday, August 23, 2007
{The Menu - 08.23.07}
MorningCoffee + Bowl O' Cereal w/ Blueberries
Noon
Leftover Sesame Noodles + Blueberries + Dried Cranberries
Night
Veggie Burger w/ Tomato + Cheddar
Noon
Leftover Sesame Noodles + Blueberries + Dried Cranberries
Night
Veggie Burger w/ Tomato + Cheddar
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
RECIPE! Sesame Noodles
SESAME NOODLES CAN be yours, too, whenever you want them, with a few common kitchen stalwarts and a couple of easily procured goods. I know its difficult to convince many of you to make your own sesame noodles when you can buy a bundle of them for $1.99 at any given Chinese take-out joint, but here goes:
1 package soba noodles
1/3 cup creamy peanut butter
1/4 cup soy sauce
2 tablespoons rice vinegar
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
2 teaspoons ginger (ground, or fresh)
1 small garlic clove, finely minced
1 teaspoon sesame oil
Crushed red pepper
1 package soba noodles
1/3 cup creamy peanut butter
1/4 cup soy sauce
2 tablespoons rice vinegar
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
2 teaspoons ginger (ground, or fresh)
1 small garlic clove, finely minced
1 teaspoon sesame oil
Crushed red pepper
As you can imagine, you'll want to boil some water and cook the soba noodles--if you can't find the delicious, thick buckwheat variety, any thicker spaghetti-type noodle will do the trick. Mix the peanut butter with soy sauce, rice vinegar, vegetable oil, ginger (I used a few shakes of ground ginger instead of grating fresh stuff), garlic, and sesame oil. Add a few shakes of the crushed red pepper for spice, and pour the delicious mixture over your noodles. Voila!
The Daily Green website from which I borrowed this basic recipe does note that this recipe, per serving, boasts 17 g. of fat. Of course, no one said sesame noodles were healthy. At least the 22 g. of protein is some small consolation.
The Daily Green website from which I borrowed this basic recipe does note that this recipe, per serving, boasts 17 g. of fat. Of course, no one said sesame noodles were healthy. At least the 22 g. of protein is some small consolation.
Serving suggestion: the next day, cold, eaten straight of the plastic tub you stored them in. If you want to get fancy, grate some carrots, radishes, and/or cucumber. Pairs well with a '00 Bordeaux.
{The Menu - 08.22.07}
MorningCoffee + Banana
Noon
Peanut Butter Sandwich + Peach
Night
Sesame Noodles + Shrimp + Broccoli + Snow Peas
Noon
Peanut Butter Sandwich + Peach
Night
Sesame Noodles + Shrimp + Broccoli + Snow Peas
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
{The Menu - 08.21.07}
MorningCoffee + Toast w/ Peanut Butter
Noon
Leftover Pasta + Tomato, Basil & Mozzarella + Roll
Night
Bowl O' Cereal + Shrimp w/ Broccoli + Chocolate Torte
Noon
Leftover Pasta + Tomato, Basil & Mozzarella + Roll
Night
Bowl O' Cereal + Shrimp w/ Broccoli + Chocolate Torte
Monday, August 20, 2007
{The Menu - 08.20.07}
MorningCoffee + Bagel w/ Peanut Butter
Noon
Quinoa w/ Zucchini, Tempeh, Pecans & Egg
Night
Fettuccine w/ Red Sauce + Shrimp w/ Tomatoes + Saffron Risotto + Chocolate Torte
Noon
Quinoa w/ Zucchini, Tempeh, Pecans & Egg
Night
Fettuccine w/ Red Sauce + Shrimp w/ Tomatoes + Saffron Risotto + Chocolate Torte
Sunday, August 19, 2007
{The Menu - 08.19.07}
MorningCoffee
Noon
Omelet w/ Mushrooms, Tomatoes & Cheese
Night
Cheese + Crackers + Leftover Pasta
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Veggie Gravy Biscuits & Jalapeno Cheddar Ice Cream
IF FEZZIK'S HAPPY, everybody's happy. And so Roxie and I happily waited for a table on Brooklyn Label's patio, a.k.a Franklin Street, on a gorgeous Saturday afternoon. We didn't have to wait long (the brunch crowd tends to fritter out by, oh, 4 p.m.) and as always the wait was well worth the while. Haven't had a chance to try out BL's new dinner menu yet, but biscuits with veggie gravy were good enough for today.The real flavor rush was at Barometer, the Chinatown HQ of Anna Studebaker and Jenna Wainwright, where "deathelss bric-a-brac" and "one-of-one" jewelry combine in a most addictive and well-composed gallery setting. Today: The Ice Cream Show, featuring ice cream-themed works by Ms. Anna and Ms. Jenna, as well as artists including one A. Hitchcock. "Good-bye, Sprinkles" is sold, so I've heard, but you can still snap up "Lose Lips a Lifetime on the Hips."
Oh, and did I mention Barometer's rum and ice cream floats? Delicious. And the jalapeno cheddar ice cream? Interesting. Here's hoping for a Hot Chocolate Show this winter!
{The Menu - 08.18.07}
MorningCoffee + Bagel
Noon
Brooklyn Label, Brooklyn, NY +
Jalapeno Chedder Ice Cream
Night
Leftover Pasta w/ Asparagus
Friday, August 17, 2007
{The Menu - 08.17.08}
MorningPeanut Butter Sandwich + Coffee
Noon
Cafe 57, New York, NY
Night
Pasta w/ Olive Oil & Lemon Juice + Asparagus
Thursday, August 16, 2007
{The Menu - 08.16.07}
MorningCoffee + Egg Sandwich w/ Tomato & Basil
Noon
Peanut Butter & Banana + Peach
Night
Mini Burritos + Cheese + Crackers + Cookies + Mozzarella w/ Basil + Wine
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
{The Menu - 08.15.07}
MorningCoffee + Toast w/ Peanut Butter & Banana
Noon
Peanut Butter & Banana + Pear + Peach
Night
L.A.'s Pizzeria, Brooklyn, NY
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Bello Giardino
Bello Giardino
71 W. 71st Street
New York, NY 10023
(212) 875-1512
bellogiardino.com
THE SIGN OUTSIDE claimed "Everyone is in the garden!" Admittedly, Mint and I were skeptical, but with nothing else along Columbus Avenue catching our collective eye we figured, well, why not check?
While "everyone" might not have been in the garden, we could see why everyone would want to be sitting beneath the impressive branches of Bello Giardino's hanging grape vines, munching on pasta as fresh as the bunches of grapes falling from the trellises overhead. Seriously--one cluster of green grapes crashed into the empty table next to us. Our server ran over, gathered them up and stopped to share, laughing, "Last night, there was a couple sitting here. I told them, in Italy, falling grapes are good luck."
The pasta, priced reasonably for the Upper West Side, is as fresh as the freefalling produce. My black linguine with mussels, salmon, leeks and tomatoes ($14) was unbelievably delicious, the soft green leeks and tomatoes managing to upstage even the seafood. And dessert, orange sorbet served inside the frozen rind of the fruit that bore it into this world, was the best of all possible choices for a summer evening outside. In the garden. With everyone.
MIKE EATS NEXT TIME: He most certainly will.
{The Menu - 08.14.07}
MorningCoffee + Peanut Butter & Banana
Noon
Peanut Butter & Banana + Whole Wheat Pizza w/ Spinach & Mushrooms + Peach
Night
Bella Giardino, New York, NY
Noon
Peanut Butter & Banana + Whole Wheat Pizza w/ Spinach & Mushrooms + Peach
Night
Bella Giardino, New York, NY
Monday, August 13, 2007
{The Menu - 08.13.07}
MorningCoffee + Peanut Butter & Jelly
Noon
Peanut Butter & Jelly + Pear + Peach + Banana
Night
230 Fifth, New York, NY +
*erb, Brooklyn, NY
Noon
Peanut Butter & Jelly + Pear + Peach + Banana
Night
230 Fifth, New York, NY +
*erb, Brooklyn, NY
Sunday, August 12, 2007
{The Menu - 08.12.07}
MorningCoffee + Bowl O' Cereal + Crackers
Noon
Egg Sandwich w/ Tomato & Cheddar + Peach + Pear
Night
Edamame + Cheesecake + Toast
Noon
Egg Sandwich w/ Tomato & Cheddar + Peach + Pear
Night
Edamame + Cheesecake + Toast
Saturday, August 11, 2007
{The Menu - 08.11.07}
MorningCoffee + Bowl O' Cereal
Noon
Leftover "Chicken" Salad
Night
Mozzerella w/ Basil & Tomato + Hummus w/ Bread + Guaca-Chips
Noon
Leftover "Chicken" Salad
Night
Mozzerella w/ Basil & Tomato + Hummus w/ Bread + Guaca-Chips
Friday, August 10, 2007
{The Menu - 08.10.07}
MorningCoffee + Toast w/ Orange Marmalade
Noon
Cafe 57, New York, NY
Night
Puttanesca, New York, NY +
Little Jimmy's, New York, NY
Noon
Cafe 57, New York, NY
Night
Puttanesca, New York, NY +
Little Jimmy's, New York, NY
UPDATE! Mike Eats Food Will Return After This Brief Interruption and a Word From Our Sponsors
Mike Eats Food! has never claimed to handle work or vacations gracefully. But fear not--the daily updates will resume! Blame it on the Brooklyn twister, flooded subways or whatever you like, but returning to NYC after a week in NC ain't easy. Watch for updates below as I catch up with real life. I've got lots of good pictures and tips for your next trip to... Wilmington, NC. Right. Well, stay tuned anyway.[NOTE, 8/12: As of today, I've started with the post-updating of the past week. Baltimore and the Aquarium are up! I also decided to keep pressing forward with new posts while I work on the vacation stuff, so don't be surprised if new stuff keeps popping up above and below!]
Thursday, August 9, 2007
{The Menu - 08.09.07}
MorningCoffee + Toast w/ Peanut Butter
Noon
Cafe 57, New York, NY
Night
Bowl O' Cereal
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
{The Menu - 08.08.07}
MorningCoffee + Miserable Traffic
Noon
Cafe 57, New York, NY
Night
Butternut Squash Raviolis w/ Basil & Lemon Butter + Veggie Meatballs + Roll
Noon
Cafe 57, New York, NY
Night
Butternut Squash Raviolis w/ Basil & Lemon Butter + Veggie Meatballs + Roll
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
{The Menu - 08.07.07}
MorningThe Dixie Grill, Wilmington, NC
Noon
Coffee + Balance Bar +
Panda Veg, Richmond, VA
Night
Munchkins + Cheesecake
Monday, August 6, 2007
Trivia From Hell
The Dixie Grill
116 Market Street
Wilmington, NC 28401
(910) 762-7280
Hell's Kitchen
118 Princess Street
Wilmington, NC 28401
(910) 763-4133
hellskitchenbar.com
IF YOU'RE WONDERING what to do in Wilmington on a Monday evening around, say, 7:30, I have a suggestion: trivia!
Now, trivia is by no means a new entry on the ever-growing List of Ways to Waste Time and Money In a Bar, but Hell's Kitchen throws a few loops at you. The four-round, category-style trivia session at Hell's has the expected questions with answers of a single theme, and it has its off-the-wall questions of entirely unrelated nature and suspect relevance. Then, there's the "Before and After" category (of Wheel Of Fortune fame) where you're given, say, "Sloppy _____ Montana" and expected to guess, "Joe." Harder than you might think. And debuting this evening was a "multimedia" category--audio tracks, on this night, of television show theme songs; you try and guess the show.
If these challenges aren't enough to draw you out, there are a couple other reasons to choose Hell's: first, its menu of bar fare is delicious; second, my brother is the host.
Adam, a.k.a. The Nooche (riffing off a shortened version of Iannucci, our middle name, our mother's last), has, I've been told, on Monday nights turned a handful of Hell's devotees into a packed bar of dedicated teams of trivia-goers vying for the obligatory bar tab and occasional other prizes.
Highlights from this particular Monday evening were topped by the array of nostalgia-inducing theme songs, that of Inspector Gadget and the opening monologue from A-Team being the most creative inclusions. Of the questions, three favorites (I'll save answers for the comments page):
Even more delicious than relishing a challenge of intellect with my brother was the massive crab cake sandwich paired with Hell's much-loved sweet potato fries. Remembering that beer costs $3-per-pint outside of New York: priceless.
116 Market Street
Wilmington, NC 28401
(910) 762-7280
Hell's Kitchen
118 Princess Street
Wilmington, NC 28401
(910) 763-4133
hellskitchenbar.com
IF YOU'RE WONDERING what to do in Wilmington on a Monday evening around, say, 7:30, I have a suggestion: trivia!
Now, trivia is by no means a new entry on the ever-growing List of Ways to Waste Time and Money In a Bar, but Hell's Kitchen throws a few loops at you. The four-round, category-style trivia session at Hell's has the expected questions with answers of a single theme, and it has its off-the-wall questions of entirely unrelated nature and suspect relevance. Then, there's the "Before and After" category (of Wheel Of Fortune fame) where you're given, say, "Sloppy _____ Montana" and expected to guess, "Joe." Harder than you might think. And debuting this evening was a "multimedia" category--audio tracks, on this night, of television show theme songs; you try and guess the show.
If these challenges aren't enough to draw you out, there are a couple other reasons to choose Hell's: first, its menu of bar fare is delicious; second, my brother is the host.Adam, a.k.a. The Nooche (riffing off a shortened version of Iannucci, our middle name, our mother's last), has, I've been told, on Monday nights turned a handful of Hell's devotees into a packed bar of dedicated teams of trivia-goers vying for the obligatory bar tab and occasional other prizes.
Highlights from this particular Monday evening were topped by the array of nostalgia-inducing theme songs, that of Inspector Gadget and the opening monologue from A-Team being the most creative inclusions. Of the questions, three favorites (I'll save answers for the comments page):
- Name the third member of the Apollo 11 trio that did not moonwalk alongside Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin.
- Identify the Byzantine city that fell to the Ottomans in 1453 by its name in 1454.
- Which American president was the first to formally change his name to its informal version.
Even more delicious than relishing a challenge of intellect with my brother was the massive crab cake sandwich paired with Hell's much-loved sweet potato fries. Remembering that beer costs $3-per-pint outside of New York: priceless.
How did our team fare? Well, Mint, Mom, Elisa and I, along with a friend of my brother, ended in a six-way second-place tie. The tie-breaker: what was the year, on this date, that the first execution by electric chair took place? Our official guess: 1921 (Mint insisted 1890 would be closer.) The answer: 1890. So, Mint was right--but 1921 was closest! Unfortunately, another team also guessed 1921. Did we correctly identify the tie-breaker's tie-breaker, the year Andy Warhol was born? Nope. But from third place there's still room to move up. Maybe next Monday.
{The Menu - 08.06.07}
MorningThe Dixie Grill, Wilmington, NC
Noon
Peanut Butter Cookie + Cheese & Crackers
Night
Hell's Kitchen, Wilmington, NC
Noon
Peanut Butter Cookie + Cheese & Crackers
Night
Hell's Kitchen, Wilmington, NC
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Wilmington & Grow-A-Pirate: Days Three and Two, Respectively
Deluxe
114 Market Street
Wilmington, NC 28401
(910) 251-0333
deluxenc.com
AFTER 48 HOURS, our little Grow-A-Pirate buddy was doing well. His head peeked over the top of his water glass this morning. We decided to transfer him from our hotel room to more luxurious accommodations inside a pilsner glass at my brother's apartment. While this was the last picture we took of him, my brother promises he will send another along in a few week's time, assuming there's not, Grow-A-God forbid, some kind of unfortunate Grow-A-Pirate accident and that my brother's apartment is large enough for such an experiment. Only time will tell.
Also telling is the time on the clock above the pancakes, pictured below. It proves not only were we eating pancakes after Noon, but nearly after 1:00 p.m. Of course, when your brother's girlfriend flies in from Italy the night before, has her luggage lost between two cities on two continents, still goes out drinking, wakes up and requests pancakes, well, you make the pancakes. Welcome back to the States, please pass the maple syrup.
Post-flapjacks, the duo of my brother and Elisa drove straight to Target in an attempt to replace some missing essentials, and my mom, Mint and I headed towards the beach by way of a few shops and Arlie Gardens. Mint, being a fan of gardens, and my mother, being a fan of Arlie Gardens in particular, would hardly have missed the chance to stop by, and myself never being one to complain about good scenery didn't complain. Besides, the Arlie Oak, which is more than 600 years old, never ceases to blow my mind. Six. Hundred. Years. People, that's old.
We all met back up at the beach, as is custom, and returned to Wilmington a while later for yet another dinner of extraordinary proportions. I briefly mentioned a few posts back about Wilmington's doing away of franchises in its historic downtown proper, but tonight's outing exemplified the remarkable accomplishment of such a snobbish policy: the owners and chefs that have flocked to downtown Wilmington have created a truly incredible culinary scene. Deluxe, or so I'm told, is one of its pillars with a simple and contemporary take on American cuisine.
There was North Carolina yellowfin tuna over spinach and quinoa with cucumber relish and Korean BBQ sauce; peppercorn grilled NY strip steak with goat cheese whipped potatoes; rabbit confit with bok choy and grilled sea scallop; not pictured, an incredible tandoori-baked salmon. I can't say anyone was disappointed with anything. Except, perhaps, with the chicken:
You can dress him up. Taking him out is questionable.
With our stomachs bursting a la our Grow-A-Pirate friend upstairs, we all proceeded to the sleek Pravda, a new Soviet-themed vodka bar situated in the downstairs of my brother's building. The crisp red lines of Pravda's interior mark off a space of sparse decor--a few cheeky Commie-kitsch posters and the obligatory red stars. The revolution will apparently be ironic. The place was full of fresh-spun 80's pop, courtesy of a DJ hiding conspicuously behind an empty dance floor. I suppose this type of Euro-trash revelry (with more actual dancing) might have made sense in post-Soviet-era Russia, but in Wilmington? Well, I suppose everybody does secretly love Cyndi Lauper. At least Mint does.
Wilmington, NC 28401
(910) 251-0333
deluxenc.com
AFTER 48 HOURS, our little Grow-A-Pirate buddy was doing well. His head peeked over the top of his water glass this morning. We decided to transfer him from our hotel room to more luxurious accommodations inside a pilsner glass at my brother's apartment. While this was the last picture we took of him, my brother promises he will send another along in a few week's time, assuming there's not, Grow-A-God forbid, some kind of unfortunate Grow-A-Pirate accident and that my brother's apartment is large enough for such an experiment. Only time will tell.
Also telling is the time on the clock above the pancakes, pictured below. It proves not only were we eating pancakes after Noon, but nearly after 1:00 p.m. Of course, when your brother's girlfriend flies in from Italy the night before, has her luggage lost between two cities on two continents, still goes out drinking, wakes up and requests pancakes, well, you make the pancakes. Welcome back to the States, please pass the maple syrup.
Post-flapjacks, the duo of my brother and Elisa drove straight to Target in an attempt to replace some missing essentials, and my mom, Mint and I headed towards the beach by way of a few shops and Arlie Gardens. Mint, being a fan of gardens, and my mother, being a fan of Arlie Gardens in particular, would hardly have missed the chance to stop by, and myself never being one to complain about good scenery didn't complain. Besides, the Arlie Oak, which is more than 600 years old, never ceases to blow my mind. Six. Hundred. Years. People, that's old.
We all met back up at the beach, as is custom, and returned to Wilmington a while later for yet another dinner of extraordinary proportions. I briefly mentioned a few posts back about Wilmington's doing away of franchises in its historic downtown proper, but tonight's outing exemplified the remarkable accomplishment of such a snobbish policy: the owners and chefs that have flocked to downtown Wilmington have created a truly incredible culinary scene. Deluxe, or so I'm told, is one of its pillars with a simple and contemporary take on American cuisine.
There was North Carolina yellowfin tuna over spinach and quinoa with cucumber relish and Korean BBQ sauce; peppercorn grilled NY strip steak with goat cheese whipped potatoes; rabbit confit with bok choy and grilled sea scallop; not pictured, an incredible tandoori-baked salmon. I can't say anyone was disappointed with anything. Except, perhaps, with the chicken:
You can dress him up. Taking him out is questionable.
With our stomachs bursting a la our Grow-A-Pirate friend upstairs, we all proceeded to the sleek Pravda, a new Soviet-themed vodka bar situated in the downstairs of my brother's building. The crisp red lines of Pravda's interior mark off a space of sparse decor--a few cheeky Commie-kitsch posters and the obligatory red stars. The revolution will apparently be ironic. The place was full of fresh-spun 80's pop, courtesy of a DJ hiding conspicuously behind an empty dance floor. I suppose this type of Euro-trash revelry (with more actual dancing) might have made sense in post-Soviet-era Russia, but in Wilmington? Well, I suppose everybody does secretly love Cyndi Lauper. At least Mint does.
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