I have been sitting on this YAWYE for much too long, so the answers are from earlier this fall.  Apologies, Emil.  This is a Stockholm entry, but he usually lives in Brooklyn, so it's the perfect transitional YAWYE.

Name: Emil Arvidson

Occupation: Journalist/editor

Neighborhood: Vasastan, Stockholm/Crown Heights, Brooklyn

Relationship status: Practically married

What did you eat today?

I have the swine flu, so only one orange and one piece of Swedish sourdough bread, Rallarhalvor, my favorite. Also some milk. Looking at a bag of cheese doodles now. [Got this YAWYE from Emil right after I got back from Sweden, so he probs doesn't have swine flu anymore. --Ed.]  

What do you never eat?

Surströmming - Swedish fermented fish. Also, the Chinese answer to surströmming - stinky tofu. Never again.

Complete this sentence:  In my refrigerator, you can always find:

In my temporary fridge in Vasastan, you'll find mostly wine and ginger root. In my Brooklyn-fridge you will always find kimchi, and Coop-produce going bad.

What is your favorite kitchen item? I like any grill pan.

Where do you eat out most frequently? In NY, I probably go to Grand Sichuan (any branch) the most. Taro Sushi and a great mexican place called Chavella's.  In Stockholm, a place called Dragon House in Hornstull, and hopefully I will be going a lot to a new place called Djuret. Amazing prices on wine there.

World ends tomorrow.  What would you like for your last meal?

One oyster and champagne. Eric Ripert brought that. Then I would actually like to repeat my first meal at Momofuku Ko (have you guys ever heard of this little place?), with wines chosen by my friend and wine consultant, Johan. Then I would like a couple of each of the fruits that grew in my garden when I grew up. Strawberries, currants, raspberries,  etc. Apples. Blueberries from the forest. Then I would like a cake of some kind. My girlfriend brought that. Whiskey after that. Then I would drink Burgundy wines until my heart stopped.

Sugar ban be damned, I always have to eat pang ji (or pang chi) when I'm in L.A.  These Thai street snacks are silver dollar taro coconut patties flecked with chewy kernels of corn.  The batter is scooped into little mounds and pan-fried on a griddle.  They're chewy, not too sweet, and I can eat ten of them in a single sitting.    There's something about the mochi-like, glutinous texture of them that makes my teeth happy, while the delicate lavender hue appeals to the unicorn princess in me.

In case you haven't ascertained on Twitter (or berated me for not calling on Facebook), I'm in L.A. for a visit with the parents.

My Pau's Asian sauce arsenal is unparalleled. Over the years, the collection of bottles has creeped ever closer to the edge of the counter and stove, multiplying and spreading across the tile like an urban colony of salty sauces in tall glass buildings.  For a few years, the condiments were banished out of sight to a cabinet underneath the sink.  Today, they have reclaimed their proper place in arm's reach, right next to the stove, so you never forget what you've got in stock.  The counter display would probably fill other people with anxiety, but its sprawl comforts me.

On the plane from JFK to LAX.  I put my blanket over my head and managed to sleep for five hours of the six-hour flight.  When I woke up, had this convo:

WOMAN SITTING NEXT TO ME: Excuse me, have you been sleeping this whole time?

ME: Yes.

WOMAN: How do you do that?

ME: Oh, I didn't get enough sleep last night. 

WOMAN: I didn't either, but I couldn't sleep at all.

What I really said:

ME: Well, it's one of the few talents I have.

What I wanted to say:

ME: It's amazing how swine flu just completely knocks you out.

This morning, I got a note from a reader who asked me:

"Hi,

Special at Hasaki: grilled mushroom plate ($18).  Sprightly white shimeiji, bluefoots, meaty chanterelles, king oyster, maitake, grilled on a flat iron casserole with soy sauce and butter (soy sauce with butter needs to become a more regular part of my repertoire) and brought to the table under a blue ceramic dome, sizzling and chattering.  Robust, animal, like nibbling on a plate of hot earlobes.

Seriously, I need to go out on a date.
 


Hasaki
210 E. 9th St.
Between 2nd and 3rd Ave.
212 473 3327
6 to Astor Pl. or R to 8th St.

Seven minutes left for the day!

Cliffs notes: Had dinner with the gorgeous and charming Luisa of The Wednesday Chef fame and my buddy Francis Lam.  I love the internets because it has allowed me to meet such lovely people.  Seriously.  Anyone who thinks the internet is killing socializing is doing something wrong. 

Luisa made some kick ass pork meatballs, which I hope she'll write about for you.  Francis made his famous koshary and I contributed some French Mints from Li-Lac.  Queens on a weekday, totally worth it.

Picture from the Manna Kitchen website

Heej is probably going to kick me for blowing up our secret spot, but I'm going to do it anyway.

Many Tuesdays and Thursdays after yoga, we refuel at Manna Kitchen in Union Square.  It's an modest, cheap little Korean joint on 18th St., right next to the Fresh store.     

We've pretty much eaten our way through the entire menu at this point, but the thing I order most often, the thing I have probably eaten more of in the last year than anything else, is the Rock 'n Rice -- it's a variation on dol sot bibimbap, the hot stone bowl kind, that can be ordered with tofu or white meat chicken instead of beef. 

You've seen it all before -- the ketchup squirt bottle of chili sauce, the bottomless cups of barley tea, the colorful assortment of sesame oil-sauteed vegetables.  But their secret weapon is the magical, mystical brown rice option.  Brown rice you say?  YES!  It crisps and puffs in that fiery rock pit like nothing else.  Think of that crunchy, toasty, nutty goodness against the jiggle of tofu with a slick of hot sauce.  I can eat it twice a week after yoga and not feel disgusting.

Entree prices hover around $10, and every dish comes with little environmentally-unfriendly foam bowls of kimchi and panchan like cold soy potatoes and onion or marinated fish cakes, often accompanied by a shallow bowl of miso soup.

As a myopic Asian, I really don't mind the retina-stimulating fluorescent lighting against the orange and kelly green formica tables.  In the winter, we sit at the bar stools, hovering over spicy soups that fog up the window we're facing.  In the warmer months, we bring our cafeteria trays outside and sit at wobbly aluminum tables outside, sipping ice water from little styrofoam cups.

Considering the regularity with which we sup at Manna Kitchen, we should probably be on a first name basis with the tall, jolly and bespectacled Korean guy who's always behind the register in his cap and orange t-shirt.  I think I see that guy more often than I see some of my good friends in New York, and though we never acknowledge that out loud, he probably smiles inside about that, too.

Okay, it's not destination dining, obviously.  It's not going to make it onto any best of lists, or even any obscure-chaser's cheap eats list.  And yet it is a destination I dine at probably three or four times a month. The whole ritual -- yoga, casual Korean grub and Chit Chat of Beautiful Ladies with my girlfriends Heej and Sarah -- is something I look forward to every week. 

If you're looking for black goat chigae blessed by a female Korean shaman who smokes mountaintop sesame leaves, then it may not be authentic enough for you.  But that kind of authenticity is bad for my arteries.  I could happily eat this perfect, perfect dish twice a week for as long as I live in New York.

Walking to the subway after dinner:

HEEJ: Do you know how many times I have eaten Korean food this week?  And I'm eating Korean food again tomorrow.

ME: Let me tell you something -- in Korea, they eat Korean food every day.

HEEJ:  Hey, that's true.

Manna Kitchen
28 E. 18th Street between Bway and Park Ave. So.
New York, NY 10003
212-228-1044

*Hello!  Three posts three days in a row!  This NaBloPoMo thing is working!  Except I can't get the acronym right.  I keep thinking NAMBLA.

Fuck me, 11pm and I still haven't posted for the day?  NaMoBloPo is going to kick my ass, I see.



I parked my bicycle in my work building for the first time today!  They just announced bike parking in the building and I couldn't be more thrilled.

Nevermind that there are only four spots for a building that spans the entire block with 16 floors.  I am going to put a placard on my portion of the rack, pee on it a little and set up camp.

I am having trouble finding proper bike fashion, though.  I wind up wearing bike clothes (light but warm, visible, unrestrictive, able to get dirty) and changing into work clothes (professional but colorful).  But if I'm taking the train home and I'm feeling too lazy to switch back, I wind up in getups like this one.  (Why am I sharing this strangely angled picture which makes me look like I have the legs of an obese toddler?  Because that's all I got for NaMoBloPo and you are going to have to deal with it.)