Some Places to Eat in Williamsburg

I am no expert, obviously, and this is going to be a tiny list, but I'm writing it down anyway, so I don't forget and so you know.

For brunch: Egg on Saturday and Diner on Sunday. Egg was only a short wait and the bacon was really, really good, plus they brought me a free donut hole. I had a delicious egg on toast with cheese and tomato. Diner was a little pricey but the potatoes and omelet (as I mentioned in my last post) were, like, transcendental. Pies n Thighs is really, really good Southern food, which I know is sort of ironic for me, since I live in NC, but the biscuits are better than anything I've had here in Charlotte. Same for the BBQ at Fette Sau. I mean, that was the best pulled pork I have EVER had. They sell it by the pound and there are no plates here. You just put it on a paper towel. I want to eat everything off a paper towel now. La Superior had some really good carne asada tacos, perfectly fried tortilla chips, and very good guac. The dirty chai at Atlas Cafe was pretty good (plus, one block away). The sandwiches at Lodge Deli were huge, very good, and contained the spiciest mustard I have ever tasted (perfection!).

On the OTHER hand, the drinks everywhere were WEAK. Come on guys. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO DANCE?

Speaking of which, I went to cardio funk today, where I made the following discoveries:

-I know the choreography to Move Your Body (Get Me Bodied?) in its entirety, for absolutely no reason. I mean, for absolutely no reason UNTIL TODAY. I knew this day would come.

-The best thing about class is that moment when you're working so hard and are so euphoric (DANCE! IS! MY! LIFE!) that you realize you have lost conscious control over your body parts and are, I don't know, throwing up gang signs because everyone else is? 

-I lied, because the best part about dance is the middle-aged guy who is breaking it down to chanting ("Melvin! Melvin!") from the teenage girls around him. I mean, breaking it down for real.

-The worst part is the teenager who is throwing her leg in your space. Girl, be aware of your space! Who are you?! Molly?!

Food things and a story.

Oh, it's been a long month of eating junk (thanks, thesis). But I'm looking forward to cooking again in March... I already have a bolognese sauce recipe I love, but my lasagna only makes me like 80% happy, so I'm definitely going to be trying Deb's incredibly comprehensive directions for putting together a really good one with the sauce I love. David Lebovitz, as I mentioned to someone recently, kinda looks like my dad, if you look at him really quickly in passing...sort of. Sometimes I like to imagine that he's my gay, pastry chef, Paris-residing uncle. That's not weird, right? His recipes are a secret weapon for me, and I'm so excited to try this egg salad. Speaking of eggs, here is a recipe for a NY deli style breakfast sandwich. I really miss those. And chicken tacos, plus a story about Mexico city that make me want to go there!

Now.

This is a real story about the time my mom made me strap a pillow to my ass so I would agree to put on my rollerblades and skate down the street. I have chosen to tell it to you through the magic of a drawing I made on my Ipad. 

My parents were always trying to get me to exercise when I was a kid, because they are MONSTERS. They have in common with each other (and the adult me) that they're not-very-diplomatic realists and pragmatic in a way that is often sort of extreme. That tendency really found its nadir in this particular moment. I was like, "I don't want to learn how to rollerblade. I feel like I'm probably going to die." Most parents would've dismissed the idea that I was going to die, but my mom was like, "Yeah, you're probably going to fall a lot. Strap this to your butt." Hey, you know one thing that really throws a newbie skater off balance? A large object tied to her ass. Also, a parent who is laughing so hard she cannot speak or breathe.

The end.

Food and travel things.

One of the things that I read about a lot is food. I am thinking of every once in a while gathering up things that I'd like to try out sometime in my kitchen so that if you, my dearest reader, like cooking, you can try them too.

Things like Nigel Slater's chicken curry, Food52's lamb merguez, or vegetable curry. Banh mi (mon amour!) or sardine pate (for real) or carrot soup with miso, or spaghetti with braised kale or this salmon from the Goop newsletter a few weeks ago (no link? no link!) (again, because it was delicious, except for the collards it was wrapped in, which were weird) or another Ivy-style chopped salad (ol' Goopy has the best recipes, coupled with the worst health advice).

I hope you're all cooking something so delicious this week that you just end up eating it over the stove because you sort of forget to sit down.

Meanwhile, when it comes to travel, let me introduce you to the Ateneo Grand Splendid bookstore in Buenos Aires. I want to go to there.

200 Word Review: Andrea Camilleri’s The Terracotta Dog (audiobook)

I listened to this on my way down to Florida, the sunshine-induced-headache state. Chandler thought it was just ok, but that’s because he reads mysteries for the suspense and surprise, while I read them for food and place descriptions. I mean, I love a puzzle and some DANGER, but the ambiance is what really makes it or breaks it. The setting was $money$, even if you could see the ending coming from, basically, page 3. I’ve been to Sicily, where I stepped in dog poop 134,986 times, and I kind of disliked it, but this book makes me want to give it a second shot. Right in the head!

Sorry, the book was full of that kind of humor. Something happened when I heard this book read out loud: the dialogue became super-embarrassing. I don’t know why it didn’t bother me in print; it’s all either corny or melodramatic. After a little while you get used to it, though, like living with someone who farts in public. It’s kind of catching, actually. I mean the language, not the farting. I think at one point I was like “We’re low on gas. What has become of us? We’re the empty shells of the people who left Charlotte. GET IT? IT IS A PUN. I AM PULLING INTO A SHELL STATION.”

Ikea and a food memoir that I didn't actually read: my week in Florida.

Last week, I drove down to Miami to help my boyfriendmove into his new apartment. While I was there, I took Molly for 18 walks a day, and the only thing I read were Ikea instructions. Actually, there was no reading involved, because in the interest of saving money and confusing the hell out of everyone, Ikea manuals are basically furniture-making manga starring some ghost people. Because I was in their company (so to speak) so often, the Ikeapeople really started coming to life for me, and now I sort of think Ikea should hire me to think up and illustrate some of the Ikeapeople's stories. I actually put together a little something, based on the glorious day Chandler and I brought home a modular shelving unit for his pots and pans, just to show the people at Ikea exactly what I’m talking about:

 
 

Right before I left, I received Fuschia Dunlop’s memoir of eating in China, “Shark’s Fin and Sichuan Pepper”.  Before I got it in the mail, I kept thinking ‘aaaaaaw shit, this better arrive before I go down to Florida for the week, or I'm gonna bust some heads*.’ I’m so glad it came in time for me to entirely neglect it.

In July, I was in Shanghai and I had a sort of awakening vis a vis Chinese food. The principal agent of that awakening: Sichuan dan dan noodles. Coming home from the restaurant where I ate them (Crystal Jade at Xintiandi, holla!**), still sort of dazed by what had just gone on in my mouth (also, because it was really spicy and my mouth was burning), I had this idea that I’d heard of dan dan noodles before, and it turns out I had, on The Wednesday Chef. That’s how I found out about Fuschia Dunlop.

I’d like to try making the dan dan noodles, but I also feel like every time I try to cook Chinese (or Mexican) food it ends up tasting not great. I live in a little city though, so I guess it’s bully for me, otherwise. 200-word-review to come!

*read: think about leaving a moderately snippy review on Amazon.

**I feel like I always misuse holla, but I refuse to look it up, because then my use of it would be so limited.