January 2005 Archives

I didn't wake til almost noon
I sleep so late these days
But smells were wafting in my room--
Cinnamon butter glaze!

Doug's mom was making Swedish buns,
It was my lucky day!
I sat down with my cup of tea
Gobbling one right away.

That tender crumb, so golden brown,
With hints of cardamom,
And opaque sugar crystals
Sprinkled, like diamonds.

I curled back up in bed to read,
I watched some bad TV
I played computer Scrabble too
Until I got hungry.

I heated up some leftovers--
Dinner, Fairway Cafe
Some flank steak, mashed potatoes
And a green spinach saute.

Computer Scrabble kicked my ass
And sixty minutes in,
I smelled my lunch complaining,
"Been too long in the oven!"

I grabbed it with the oven mitt,
Peeled back the foil top:
My steak had shrunk to beef jerky,
In greased potato slop.

Then Doug returned, with mom in tow
They broke the Swedish bread
"I guess one more slice couldn't hurt,
Thank you so much!" I said.

I left the house for Parlay Lounge
And quickly had to flee
Twas bridge-and-tunnel hell on earth
and frat purgatory.

I met back up with Doug and friend
Went to Siberia
Two vodkas plus empty stomach?
Late night delirium.

I walked to Port Authority
To take the subway back
Of course, just as I got there
The train pulled out of the track.

I sat down on a wooden bench
And pulled out my train read
When this old guy with a hand truck
Makes kissy-face at me.

It's three a.m., and I can't deal
I open up my book.
I notice movement to my left
And I can't help but look.

The old guy's jerking himself off!
He looks me in the eye.
I quickly move to the next bench
With more people nearby.

But still the old guy follows me.
When he's four feet away,
He starts to rub his crotch again!
I think, what should I say?

Does he think I will think it's cute,
Or want a reaction?
I know he's a sick fuck. What if
He's got a knife or gun?

Another man comes down the stairs,
The masturbator flees.
I guess he only likes to do
His show for us ladies.

Eight million stories, Naked City,
Your nights are never drab
But that was too unsavory --
Next time, I'll take a cab.

Here's a cute article from the Times from a former Times City Hall bureau chief. It's pretty straightforward, and it's got suggestions for City Hall area eateries I've never heard of. But one of the things she says is, "Chinatown has its charms, but to me, it is best enjoyed like Lindsay Lohan updates: weekly and no more."

I totally disagree. Not about Lindsay Lohan, but about Chinese food. Last Friday, I ate Chinese food for lunch. In the evening, I met some friends for family style dinner at Grand Sichuan where we ate, you guessed it, Chinese food. The next day, I went to dim sum at Ocean Port, a decidedly Chinese restaurant. That's three Chinese meals in a row. I'm always baffled when, if I suggest Chinese food, a dining companion says, "Oh, I just had Chinese last night." What does that matter? Chinese people eat Chinese food every day.

Besides, each of my meals was completely different. Chinese lunch on Friday was at the local Sunset Park lunch joint. We had various hacked animal parts over rice (barbecued pork spare ribs, soy sauce chicken) with limp, sauteed iceberg lettuce, rice, and and a half-hearted shrimp chow mein. Not the best Chinese food I've ever had, but a serviceable stomach filler. Dinner at Grand Sichuan meant verdant boiled spinach with a tart ginger vinegar and chili oil; red hot bamboo and chicken with plenty of tongue numbing szechuan spices; steamed silken bean curd with a very light brown sauce and shrimp. The next day's dim sum consisted of tasty dumplings galore, suckling pig, steamed noodles, and not a single grain of rice. They were three distinctly different meals. They all happened to be Chinese, but one meal had about as much to do with the next meal as a South Carolina vinegar barbecue has to do with a New England clambake.

There's so much variety within Chinese food, even in Chinatown, that I don't think I'd mind eating it for lunch five days a week. It's gotta be better than slurping down Pax's heavily salted chicken noodle every day. Sometimes I think that if I ate rice twice a day like I did when I was a kid, I could regain my svelte pre-college figure. I discovered pasta and bread in the dorm Dining Commons and I don't think my body ever recovered from the shock of immediate carb absorption. That's right, that's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it.

Remember that incredibly inane song by LFO (Lyte Funkie Ones -- you can't make that shit up!): "I like girls who wear Abercrombie & Fitch/Chinese food makes me sick"? I remember in the video the wifebeater-wearing Jersey dumbass (the stringy haired girlyman on the far left) even made a vomit face when he sang about the Chinese food. I'm sure that talentless hack has long burnt away his piddling record company advance on Marithe+Francois Girbaud gear, Accutane, a year of eyebrow waxings, and a Bowflex. I hope, as punishment for making money by irrationally denouncing an entire nation's cuisine, he's been doomed to a purgatory of collecting coins from under the cushions of his poor mama's couch to pay for fried chicken wings and duck sauce at his local greasy Chinese joint. Keep an eye out for the "Where Are They Now?" episode. Closed-minded eaters are the WORST.

Back in the day, I purchased the rights to www.yellowtrash.com, which is now available for you enterprising types to stake a claim on if you wish. I was going to post recipes for "yellow trash" foods -- spam onigiri, hot dog fried rice, rice porridge with bacon, etc. Well, this recipe for twinkie sushi, courtesy of my friend Tobin, would have fit in perfectly. I'm not sure it's something I want to eat, but I bet the kids love it. Are fruit roll-ups green now?

**OOPS! Looks like you're too late, kids. yellowtrash.com now belongs to one Samuel Yu in Burbank, CA. But I'll have you know, I thought of it first.

The oh-so-cute Chez Pim discusses how to make flageolet beans here. Is it a coincidence that flageolet is just a few consonants different from flatulent? Couldn't the Bean Board have come up with a more marketable name? Broccoli rape didn't fly.

So my roommate Doug, his friend Alex and I went to the always warm and inviting Gramercy Tavern for a post-movie drink and nosh for the Saturday evening portion of BLIZZARD 2005! The happy hostesses took our coats and seated us at the best table in the front room, with the cozy love seat and the picture window where we watched the horizontal snow tableau. We shared an excellent cheese plate with raisin fennel, sourdough, and dark raisin pecan bread and rich chicken liver crostini with bacon and generous quenelles of caramelized onion compote and roasted tomato. We commiserated over a pot of green tea for me, a mug of cream-topped hot chocolate for Doug and a cinnamon anointed banana buttered rum for Alex. And it was just lovely. Gramercy Tavern deserves all the props they get. A lot of restaurants in this town could learn a thing or two from Danny Meyer about good service. We all get used and abused, working like a pack of dogs just trying to get our lives on in NYC -- once in a while, it's nice to get cozy with a warm beverage and be treated like an adult.

Doug and I hit the fabulous Ocean Port Restaurant, recently reviewed in the Times, for a little Saturday midday dim sum.  We set out at about noon, just as the snowstorm started to kick in.  We got to the corner of 18th Ave. and 62nd St. in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, only to discover that there was no Ocean Port Restaurant on said corner.  I called information to confirm the address, and we discovered that Ocean Port Restaurant was actually the large restaurant on the corner with the block lettering sign for World Fung Seafood Restaurant (or something).  The only sign that we were in the right place?  A few shiny red sticker letters on the back wall that read "OCEANP". The review, of course, mentions nothing about the lack of signage. So New York, as Doug said.

When I go to dim sum in New York, I'm always prepared to be disappointed.  Big room dim sum in this town usually means a greasy, heavy affair with oil-drowned deep fried sinkers and cart-pushing ladies who regard the English language as an unnecessary evil.  Ocean Port's room is thankfully smaller than most dim sum palaces, so the dishes that made the rounds stayed hot and we didn't have to cut the servers off at the kitchen door to catch the good plates.  We sat down with a fresh pot of jasmine tea and were joyously surprised with the excellent dishes that came our way.  The cart-pushers here didn't have much use for English either, but they were friendly and encouraging, patiently opening up one lid after the next with exclamations of, "Very good.  This very good."  Even though we got there a little late by dim sum standards, there were plenty of fresh, hot dishes to choose from.  Cloud-like steamed white fish balls with water spinach; ginger-laced beef ribs; deep-fried croissant like rolls filled with mushrooms and sweet onions; steamed rice noodle rolls with bright green dimes of Chinese vegetable; roasted suckling pig with thick, crunchy, perfectly rose-brown skin; translucent skinned pan fried dumplings with shrimp and garlic chives; little tortellini sized pockets with shrimp and greens; deep fried, breaded shrimp "chops" with a rib of sugar cane; silky coconut agar agar with a middle layer of taro cream; the dishes kept coming in and we flagged the ladies down til we could stuff no more into our stomachs.  And as we waited to pay the bill, so many other exciting things came by: crisp taupe hundred corner balls; stuffed eggplant; shumai...but two people can only eat so much at one sitting without being masochistic.  I can't wait to go again with a larger group of people so we can try a little bit of everything.

But bring cash -- the nearest bank is three blocks away, which I had to fight my way through the attacking snow to get to.

Ocean Port Seafood Restaurant
6202 18th Avenue (62nd Street), Bensonhurst, Brooklyn; (718) 236-8118.

Take the N train to 18th Ave.  Turn left and walk 1 1/2 blocks to the corner of 62nd St.

I've been experiencing technical difficulties with my DSL provider, the diabolic Verizon. Long story short, I probably won't get the DSL back up and running for another two weeks. I'm cruising someone else's wireless router (thank you Airport!), but service is spotty and unreliable. Basically, I'm saying that I'll be in and out for the next couple of weeks.

In the meantime, enjoy this snapshot of the fake mallomars from Fluff in Hell's Kitchen -- a reminder that in good eats, looks DO matter. I don't care how delicious it is, there is no way to put something that looks like dog dookie in your mouth and still look civilized.

Oh my god-arah, this guy is my hero.

Maybe this isn't news to you, but it's news to me. The Asia Food website has an excellent glossary with pictures so you too can know your fish maw from your balut. Especially useful for people planning on being contestants on Fear Factor.

Sugar Sweet Sunshine is better known as a cupcake heaven, with flavors ranging from red velvet to pumpkin to pineapple with cream cheese icing. This morning however, I stopped in and tried the Raspberry Cream Cheese Breakfast Bun, a cloned offering which I originally sampled at Magnolia Bakery. It's a tender, airy flat-topped muffin painted with a lacy, crisp net of hard-candied raspberry preserves and a light-handed sprinkling of powdered sugar. With a steaming cup of peridot-colored sencha, it was the perfect pre-brunch breakfast for a Saturday morning.

Sugar Sweet Sunshine 126 Rivington between Essex and Norfolk, Lower East Side. 212-995-1960