Category: Dear Crabby

photo by atomicity on flickr, CC licensed

To the pyromaniac choads in my 'hood,

Happy Independence Day!  Look, I know this is the one time of year you get to pop a chubby coaxing a scream out of a flaming stick.  But do you have to light up the fireworks every night for the two weeks leading up to July 4?  Isn't one night of keeping grandma up with your deafening, gunshot-like noises enough for you?  Let me remind you that it is ILLEGAL to set off any fireworks in New York without a permit.

You know what else is illegal?  Putting a night-vision scope on a rhino tranquilizer rifle and sniping people who insist on interrupting their sleeping neighbors.

I'm just sayin',
Crabby

I'm so glad that Dunkin' Donuts decided to pull the ads showing that jihad lover Rachael Ray.  But why stop the boycott there?  There are so many unpatriotic, treasonous coffees on the market right now.  Here's a list of java you should avoid unless you want the CIA to know you love terrorists too.










1. Timothy's -- You know those disposable brew-per-cup coffees you like to down before meetings at work?  Those little shots of ground coffee are made by a Canadian company, and you know what Canadians are -- NOT American. Just like terrorists are NOT American.  Therefore Canadians = Terrorists.  Remember, we need to protect our borders from people who put gravy and cheese curds on Freedom fries.



2.  Peet's -- Peet's got its start in Berkeley, CA, aka the Hellmouth.  That's where stoners send their drug-retarded offspring to become Godless Sufjan Stevens-enthusiasts and  The Nation-reading fornicators.  I hope I get to stand by St. Peter when he informs them that there is no affirmative action in heaven.



3. Chock full o' Nuts -- Okay, maybe not terrorist, but obvs gay.










--

...And the one coffee that will let the terrorists know that they can't take away our freedom, democracy, or faith:

Wear your flag pin and only buy your iced coffee from Starbucks.  "Star" like fifty stars in the flag and "bucks" like free market means TERRORISTS KEEP OUT.

God bless America.

Some of us are back in our hometowns, unwrapping gifts, sipping eggnog by a crackling fireplace, quibbling lovingly with family members, escaping the house at night to get drunk with high school buddies, brining turkeys and baking Christmas cookies as Josh Groban's dickless lilt puts Grandma to sleep, fa la la la la and a bottle of rum.

And some of us are battling the stomach flu alone in Sunset Park, drinking watered down ginger ale, trying to keep bowls of thin rice congee down, crying our eyes out watching our Netflixed Love Actually* on repeat, and flipping channels in a vain attempt to get away from that relentless, toothy holiday pox Rachael Ray as she shills crackers/donuts/stoups.

So since some of us are totally in the holiday spirit this year, we thought we'd put together a list of the top five loneliest places to eat in NYC. We've excluded the ramen bars and pizza joints -- those places were designed for singletons just like you, so you always feel as if you're dining in solidarity.

No, no, the following places make you feel worse than you did when you walked in. They serve to remind you, with every practical bite, that you have no one to go home and have dinner with. That in your life, dinner is not a social event, but a functional refueling. If you find yourself in any of these places, take a look around you. You could:
A.) find another loser like yourself and no longer be lonely, or
B.) join me for dinner and give me grief for putting the blog on hold.

And don't be too hard on yourself -- top ramen over the sink in your underwear is still worse. So is straight up alcoholism.

The Top Five Loneliest Places to Eat in NYC

In descending order:

5. Any Taco Bell, but especially a Taco Bell Express. The seats bolted to the floor, the harsh overheads, the dubious, dubious meat, the sweaty, runny beans, the browning lettuce -- what did you do to make you hate yourself this much?

4. Katz's. You're drunk and you want to eat something before you get on the train so you don't ralph in the tunnel between Manhattan and Brooklyn. But you get your pastrami sandwich, ask for fries, and the guy yells at you to go to the other station. And you sit down at the service only tables and get yelled at by the waiter to move to one of the gazillion other empty tables. And then (because you're drunk), you lose your ticket and you get yelled at by the burly bouncer type at the door who demands an extortive fine. All of which serve to remind you that you are alone, you are pathetic, and you'll never be a REAL New Yorker.

3. Anywhere that serves any kind of tube meat or has "dogs" in the name. Seriously, think about what you look like.

2. Woorijip. You are a lonely fuck if you are eating steam table rice cakes with disposable chopsticks from a foam tray at Woorijip. And if you have forgotten what a sad, lonely fuck you are, just look at the sad, lonely fucks around you, looking minty green under the harsh fluorescents, sitting on their low stools along the bar in the front of the dining room, yelling about their therapy sessions into their cell phones as they stuff their traps with cold, tacky jap chae.

1. The subway. Nasty. What, you're too hungry to wait the 30 minutes it's gonna take you to get home? Or you want to make sure you eat a little something before you start drinking tonight? Those platforms are depositories for all manner of bodily fluids and excretions. Which, of course, you know and generally block out for sanity's sake. But while you're eating? You know better. And if you forget, the smells are easy reminders that drunkards know no discrimination when it comes to finding a place to take a piss (or toss their cookies). The subway car seems marginally better than the platform, but that seat was probably just vacated by a homeless guy who finished jerking off the stop before you got on. And for god's sake, put a glove on before you touch that pole.

Bonus: The other day I was in Shanghai Mong trying their ja jang myun/ramen combo. There's this little circular room where a little lip of a bar juts out from the wall, and about ten single diners can enjoy their meals with their backs to the center of the circle. The great thing is that at about every other seat, there's a mirror at face height that says, "You Are a Princess". I like to imagine all of these gruff Korean businessmen going in for a sweat-inducing bowl of spicy seafood noodle soup and having to stare back at their own visages framed in these curlicued "You Are a Princess" mirrors. Ha ha ha...ha...ahem...this is how I get my kicks these days.

*Is there a better Xmas rom-com? I don't think so. What a dehydrator.

Reader Dave writes:
where's the greasiest pizza located at?.thanks

Greasiest pizza? That is an odd question better suited for the Slice man and his readers. Perhaps Adam will deign to respond.

You know that saying, "Sex is like pizza. Even when it's bad it's good"?

I say, "Pizza is like sex. When it's good, it's good. When it's bad, it's bad." And when it's greasy, it's probably bad, but I guess it could be good, depending on what frame of mind you're in. Not that I would know.

Dear guy on the subway/street drinking Muscle Milk,

Every time I see that Muscle Milk box, I think the logo is a dookie. That extra large carton looks big in your fist, which, in turn, makes you seem kind of Webster-ish. I know you're trying to bulk up, tough guy, but that dookie-decorated, banana-flavored milk carton doesn't just make you look like a pussy, it makes you look like a gullible pussy. Even that kid with the PSP and braces sucking on a strawberry Yoohoo through a straw thinks he could beat you up.

Love hurts,
Crabby

1. Bad website music -- Hello, I am trying to secretly surf the web while I am at work and your bad website music is totally blowing my cover. Okay, I get it, you're multi-culti, you're brown (but not too brown), you're exotic, your place is swingin', baby. It's bad enough I have to listen to whatever pap you decide to throw down on your turf. Turn off the assault on my computer speakers. You're drowning my Mariah out and that's not okay.

2. Small plates -- To hell with you and your so-called tapas! I am so tired of spending exorbitant amounts of money only to go home hungry because I am supposed to share my little serving of finger food with everyone at the table. I want to eat a meal and not have to grab a slice five minutes later. I want my protein entree to come with both a vegetable AND a carb-filled starch. Yes, I mean included in the price.

3. Waiters who ask if I want the bread -- Yes I want the bread and yes I want two pieces and don't make me feel guilty for asking for it. All those fools who have vilified the west's greatest starch contribution will cry when they realize that the decade they spent avoiding carbs didn't help them avoid their fat fate. What, people have been eating bread for centuries and NOW all of a sudden it's making them fat?

4. How would you like that cooked? -- I am of the opinion that there is only one way to cook a steak (rare) and one way to cook salmon (cooked through, no raw center). But when I'm at a restaurant, I want to know how the chef likes it. If s/he thinks it's better another way, I want to try it the chef's way. So, steak I understand -- there is a long tradition of asking for steak to be cooked your way. But duck breast? Fish? Pork chop? Dazzle me with your way, chef.

5. Disposable chopsticks in sit-down Asian restaurants -- Deforestation is real, and there's no reason to be throwing out wooden chopsticks every day when you have to wash the plates and silverware anyway. I keep a normal pair at work and refuse the chopsticks whenever I remember to.

Dear Crabby,

I don't have a microwave.  What's the best way to reheat my leftover refrigerated rice?

Sincerely,
Rice Lover

Dear Rice Lover:

It's funny that you should be asking me this question right now, because I don't have a microwave either, and I have just come up with the most GENIUS way to reheat rice.  Take your cold rice, dump it into the rice cooker with a couple of tablespoons of water.  Put the lid on and press the Rice Cook button.  It should be ready in about 5-10 minutes, depending on how much rice you have.  In fact, my rice cooker automatically turns itself to Keep Warm when the rice is ready because it is a BABY GENIUS PSYCHIC MACHINE.  Stir it before serving.  This super sexy reheating method is fast enough, and it's almost as delicious as fresh rice.  And you can continue to protect the babies from radiation damage.

Eat me,

Crabby

P.S.  If you're about to sass me and ask, "Why don't you just put it on keep warm?", it's because I tried that and it would have taken 30 minutes to warm up the rice; then you might as well be making fresh rice. --C

P.P.S.  What, you don't have a rice cooker?  What kind of hater are you, Rice Lover?  Rice cookers RULE.  Set it and fuhggedit! --C

Dear Sally,

It seems you pay a high price for everything you love. Shopping brought me such pleasure. Until Mr. Credit Card Company came knocking down my door and forced me to live on a budget. Joe brought me another kind of pleasure. But then he stopped calling. Such mishaps led me directly to ice cream. And I was happy until I started packing on the pounds. What should I do?

—Bummed out in New York

Dear Bummed out in New York,

I know you wrote to Sally and not to me, Crabby, but I must buttinsky here.  Sally's a total enabler and she's just blowing sunshine up your ass with her answer because she always wanted to get with Joe the whole time you were together.  I know, she's such a slut!

Sally knows you'll never be satisfied by Haagen Dazs Light ice cream.  You'll just keep eating more and more until you are like a bloated whale beached on the toxic Manhattan shore.  Then she's going to move in on Joe while you're down and before you know it, she'll be another one of those basketballs on chopsticks carrying his malnourished child in her Strivectin-lubed belly. 

Lowfat ice cream is not the answer, just like shopping wasn't the answer, and that loser boyfriend wasn't the answer, you vapid mongoose. 

Let's face it, you'll never be as cute, as skinny, or as well-accessorized as those Daily Candy drawings.  So I say drink another pomegranate margarita or ten and start blogging.  Pour your pent-up sexual frustration into your writing and before you know it, you'll be shriveled, pale and hunchbacked over a computer, and your audience of tens will know what douchebags Sally and Joe were.  Then you'll really know what it means to hit rock bottom.  Wait, did I say that out loud?

Eat me,
Crabby

Dear Crabby,

I have a friend who invites me to dinner but often invites me to a crappy restaurant that I don't want to eat at.  How do I suggest a different restaurant without offending my friend?

Thanks,

Mr. Nice Guy

Dear Mr. Nice Guy,

Look, you have to be honest.  It's your meal too.  What if you step out of the restaurant and get hit by a cab and the last things you taste in your mouth are marmalade meatballs and bile?  If you really want to be a friend to your "friend", you should steer him towards better dining destinations; teach him to spend his money wisely at places that can make you both happy.  And if he insists that his crappy restaurant is incredible and calls you a snob, then you need a new friend.  Because you are right.  Don't give an inch or you'll subject yourself to a friendship full of heartburn and stomachache.  You may be thinking, "Is a restaurant choice really worth ruining a friendship over?"  But the trick is not to ask yourself that question, but to ask him.

Crabby 

Dear Crabby,

I know I'm not supposed to buy the shrink-wrapped Parmesan in the dairy section of my Key Food because it sucks.  But I went to the cheese shop today and they had two kinds of "proper" Parmigiano Reggiano -- one was a 2 year aged for $12.99/lb. and the other was a 3 year aged Vacche Rosse for $23.99/lb.  Is the latter really worth twice the money, or can I just get the 2 year aged?

Sincerely,

Udderly Perplexed

Dear UP,

First thing you should do is a taste test to see if you can tell the difference between the two cheeses.  Because look, if you can't taste the difference, then no, you shouldn't pay the extra money.  Any cheese shop worth its curd will provide you with a small slice for you to taste whatever you're thinking of buying.  For me, the difference is huge -- the vacche rossa has a crumblier texture, with plenty of salt crystal crunch in every bite, nuttier flavor and a singing finish that really excites the palate.  This is a cheese that would be beautiful on a plate with a Coach Farm triple creme and a listeria-free Point Reyes blue.

But say you're not going to just nosh on this fabulous cheese.  You just want to grate some on top of your spaghetti (or, as that Giada de Laurentiis likes to say, spa-gee-tee) and put some in your risotto or something.  It would be perfectly acceptable to use the younger cheese.  But for me, I eat parmigiano so rarely that I figure I may as well spend another $5 on a block of the fancy stuff because it will last me a while.  And when I'm not using it in soups, on salads, over bruschetta, etc., then I have something really special to nibble on.

One of my favorite summer treats -- boiled summer corn with butter, freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano, shichimi togarashi, and fresh squeezed lime.

Crabby

Got a question?  I got a smart ass answer.  Write to Dear Crabby at coconutella(at)yahoo(dot)com.