Monthly Archives: January 2012



2008 Wellington. Oh. My. Wurd.

Its like drinking gold, but its a pinotage with hints of coffee- heaven!


Cat got your tongue? No, I do.


I was a little hungry, and would have to dance in just a couple of hours. I was looking for a place to read my book, have some tea, and maybe a scone… but then I saw Pastrami Queen. Alright, if anyone’s going to name a place something like that, I’m going to have to eat there. And it looked promising.

It was quite the New York experience.

I planned on ordering the lunch special, soup and a sandwich, it seemed light enough. When I examined the menu, I realized that I had the potential to cross something off my list of rare foods I had never tried before, tongue. From the list of sandwiches I had the choice of center tongue or tip tongue. Being naive, I asked the waitress her preference and then went with that, which was center tongue (it made sense to me, the center of the tongue had to be more consolidated muscle… right? And just asking, who’s tongue is this? I guess I’ve never asked who’s butt I was knawing on so why start now?)

My soup was a Mushroom Barley soup. It was fine, quite fine (add a hoity toity accent to that). It didn’t change my life but I enjoyed every drip.

Then it came. Served on a humble white plate with a pickle that had been cloven in two, as if the pickle had been the sacrifice for this god of a sandwich I was about to confront. It sat there on the plate with a certain posture of intimidation. If it had legs it would have been kicking its hooves back like a bull. The rye bread on either side splayed obidiently open allowing for the mass of tongue to lurch out at me. Its chow time.


With images of tongues lapping through my head I bravely drew the beast to my face and bit.

Oooh! Tongue…Mmmm…Tongue, tongue…Yum…More than one tongue in my mouth…Delish…Who’s tongue is this…Almost like cheese… Wow…My tongue is aiding in the consumption of more tongue…I like it!

Surprisingly, I discovered myself chewing through the entire monster. I enjoyed the tongue. It was like a primitive experience for me but with really good rye bread and in the Upper East Side.

Feeling the need to celebrate my triumph, I asked for a dessert. I again chose the thing I had never heard of, Ragula, or Ruggies, some type of Jewish cookie. They come warm, as if they were just pulled out of the oven. They’re like rolls of dough with chocolate or cinnamon and raisens- yummy.


I managed to stomach all six (she only laughed when I asked for just three) and then race through the bitter (I need to emfasize bitter) cold to my last dance class of the day. Luckily, I digested the whole experience just soon enough to start leaping and contracting again.

Tongue? Check!

Spending Time with Velazquez


this guy was good!

At the Metropolitan, marveling at Velazquez’s work.

Peanut Butter Beans

So, I wilfully attribute this little discovery of mine to the fact that I absolutely love peanut butter. As a disclaimer, understand that this may be the only substantive reasoning as for why I thought this combo was so delicious.


All I did was mindlessly add too much salt and oregano to a can of beans I was warming on the stove. After tasting my poorly seasoned beans, I tried imagining what might cut the overpowering salty flavor. I opened the fridge. Oh, peanut butter. It seemed so natural. I added about a tablespoon and then immeiately regretted it. I probably just ruined all those beans, I thought. Darn.

I was already planning on throwing an egg onto my beans, so I just proceeded with my now haphazard plan.

I finished my egg juicy, laid it atop my peanut butter beans, bravely scooped up a spoonful full of juicy egg and steaming beans. I tasted it, bracing myself for a sickening combo of salt, oregano, and peanut butter. Nope, just delcious.

I had to have a dozen more bites before I was convinced. And then I went to get more peanut butter- success!

(Coincidentally, I was drinking a chai tea with it which complimented it better than it should have.)

Edible Bliss


I was there.

In a place where time takes the back seat in the racing vehicle of reality allowing for sensations and pleasures to take control and steer me gleefully masticating through life.

You could say it was just a restaurant, but that would be a gross and derogatory labeling for such an incredible place. Its called Prune, and it is no normal food establishment: it is gallery, standing as a concrete argument for food as an art form.


After waiting about an hour and a half for a seat to open up, I sat down already knowing what I’d order. To start, fresh ricotta served with roasted pine nuts, raspberries, figs, honey, and miniature doughnuts chased by a glass of mimosa. The flavors were simple, raw, and so well done. I was down to a few last delicious bites of my pile of fresh ricotta when my second course appeared, the “Youth Hostel Breakfast.” It consisted of things I have never seen before and therefore wanted to try.


A few moments after I received my dish I realized that my mimosa would not do. I switched to a locally brewed toasted lager to go along with my splay of flavors. I spent a good hour on this plate, slowly enjoying as many different food combinations and pairings as I could think of. I would try a bite with the cheese, and then try a bite  without but then with lemon juice and a sprig of parsley. It had to have been the most entertaining meal that I can remember making my experience an actual party of one. Just me and the food, having a blast.




When the waitress saw that I was finally done (indicated by my completely crumbless plate), she cleared my table and complimented me for my eating style “you did it right,” she told me, “you took your time.” And I did. And it was wonderful.


(The bill was delivered with licorice digestifs, brilliant touch. Whats more is that the candies were designed like euros… like what you’d leave as a tip in Europe. Five euros total 🙂 Clever!)

Party of One


Waiting for my food at Prune. Party of one. Loving the new year. That’s not just orange juice.