Red Hook Lobster Pound Roll

I've been seeking out this roll for several weeks now at the Flea. First time, the line was so horrendously long I began to doubt the sanity of everyone around us (and headed to our true favorite, Red Hook Pupusas). Second time, yesterday, the guy told me "we're 86'd on Connecticuts" as I searched the sign to see what he was referring to - I saw only - butter - mayo - 13.00. I asked for clarification. He said butter = Connecticut. They only had Maines (mayo). Again, I left for pupusas.

Today, we decided to meet Sara at the Brooklyn Bridge Flea and found ourselves the only ones in line at noon. The following conversation transpired:

me: I'll have two with butter.
RHLP: 2 connecticuts!
me: (handing over $30)
RHLP: 2 Maines!
me (to a motioning Liam): those aren't ours, I'm pretty sure he said butter = connecticut.
RHLP: 2 Uconns (Yukons?)
me: silent
RHLP: 2 Connecticuts!
me: taking the roll

Recovering from the confusing nomenclature, we inhaled them. Sara and I were on board, Liam realized maybe he doesn't like lobster as much as he thought. Despite the 8-dollars-more-than-a-pupusa-platter price, we were happy with the crunchy grilled bun and sweet, buttery taste - just glad we clarified the state.

What we ate in June ...

Inside my bathroom mirror is a list of my goals for the year. Friends who've known me for a while will smile, this list is generally written in a flurry of gel pen and bucketed into categories around food and fun and all kinds of self-improvement. I even committed, in glittering blue, to blogging twice a month while starting the school.

I also set food intentions. Less chronicling, more eating, I must've thought. #2 and #1 are still to be determined, but we have been to Bay Ridge for Greek food, Brighton Beach for a Russo-phile's dream and Sunset Park for middle eastern. We've had a spring brunch featuring our new favorite: dutch baby.

I've stewed rhubarb, am jubilee-ing cherries as I type, and have eaten handfuls of peas each week.

I think if I could blog via the Blackberry, I could do more while I wait for elevated trains than re-read work emails too important to type with two fingers to or browse the happenings of people I haven't seen in years on Facebook.

Today we went to Egg. Sunday after a holiday we thought would be quiet, which it was, save the families around us with babies squealing like small birds. Liam ordered the CHB, I got the Eggs Rothko, and a biscuit, and we drew the story of our weekend on the table.

I just forgot to take a picture.

Chickpea Crepes with Ginger and Hot Chiles (Chilla)

I always have chickpea flour (besan) in the cabinet - often for socca, sometimes for Indian dumplings, other times for breading okra before frying. When reading through Julie Sahni's Classic Indian Vegetarian and Grain Cooking, I found my new favorite for breakfast - chilla. According to Sahni, "chilla is a spicy delicacy, a delightful breakfast treat form the eastern regions of India"

She had me at spicy and breakfast.

I mixed these together and pulled out our warped crepe pan for lunch Saturday. According to Sahni, "to best enjoy chilla, serve them with a lot of hot steaming tea, Indian-style," so I put a pot on the stove for my favorite chair recipe while the crepes cooked.

I adore this cookbook and am only through the tiffin section, but still need some urad dal in order to make the other recipes I'm interested in. Several of you asked for the recipe when I told you about it, so here it is as it appears in Sahni's book:

Chickpea Crepes with Ginger and Hot Chiles (Chilla)

1 cup chickpea flour
1 cup water
1 T chopped ginger
2 hot green chiles, chopped
1/8 t. red pepper flakes
1 t coarse sea salt
2 T light sesame oil or light vegetable oil*
extra oil for frying

1. Mix the chickpea flour and water and make a smooth, lump-free batter using processor, blender, or wire whisk. add all the other ingredients except extra oil mix well.
2. To cook the crepes, heat a nonstick frying pan over medium heat until very hot. Then brush the pan lightly with 1/2 to 3/4 t. oil.
3. Pour about 1/4 c of batter into the pan. Tilt the pan to coat it evenly with the batter. Cook the crepe until the underside is browned (about 2 min) Turn and cook the other side for 30-45 seconds. Pour on 1/2 to 1 t. oil during cooking to give the crepe a fried taste and texture. Remove and serve immediately or keep warm, while you make more crepes with the remaining batter. For a crispier taste, use 2-21/2 t. oil per crepe.

*Sesame oil is the Indian kind - light - (Til, I think it's called) - not the darker one found in Asian aisle of stores.

num pang, banh mi. asia dog.

I gripe a lot about not liking vegetarian sandwiches with their days-old roasted eggplants and slimy zucchini slices and bread pink with red pepper. I thought I would never eat a sandwich again after years of this, until I got into the idea of finding banh mi.

Then I read two articles about the banh mi craze, and found some answers.

On a very hot recent Sunday, we went to Num Pang near Union Square to have the peppered catfish (pictured) and pork. My catfish choice was the best - spicy and peppery and sweet and concentrated and briny and all that cilantro.

We were hooked.

When our movie at the cinema across the street burnt out the following weekend, we grabbed the sandwiches and sat upstairs to enjoy as we spied on the goings on at the theater - have they fixed the film? Were those people in the movie with us? Do people still look angry? and we finished our sandwiches and corn covered in spice, chipotle mayo and coconut.

Today I found myself at Brooklyn Flea picking up a lost earring from a fabulous jeweler.
Liam and I split ways after the greenmarket so I was cruising the aisles alone and figured I'd snack before I took off. Red Hook pupusas weren't up yet, so I passed along until I saw asiadog. All kinds of hot dogs covered in all kinds of asian toppings. Brilliantly difficult to choose, so I went with the Vinh - a banh mi topping-ed veggie dog.

The Smart Dog (my personal favorite for veggie dogs - it doesn't have that liquid smokey flavor of Tofu Pups) was charred and then popped into a toasted bun with veggie 'pate,' pickled daikon and carrot, jalapenos, cilantro, and my own squirt of sri acha sauce. It burned deliciously. I can't believe no one has thought of this before?!

My faith in sandwiches (and veggie dogs) has returned.

Brazil, Part 3

Brazilian foods I ate for the first time included acai with granola, banana and honey at a beach shack in Paraty at a table with sand under our feet. Manioc. Farofa. More manioc. Juices of apple and ginger with water weakening it. Lemon verbana and mint. Pineapple and mint. Breakfast foods like a roll that looks like a Parker House meets croissant and is soft as white bread and has something sweet in it like Filipino butter rolls I used to eat in LA. Guava jelly with cheese and toast. Moqueca with soft shell crab. Moqueca with white fish. Moqueca with shrimp. Moqueca with another white fish. Salmon in passion fruit sauce, crunchy, sour and sweet. Guacamole with a tiny searing hot pepper on top. Caiprihinas with incredible amounts of kiwi or pineapple or watermelon or passion fruit or all mixed together. Banana juice with wheat germ. Thick, sweet mango juice. Pao de Queijo. Pastillas de Queijo. Coconut cakes. Coconut soaking in sweet cane syrup. Coconut in cane syrup flattened into a cake. Guava candies. Banana candies covered in chocolate.

Brazil, Part 2

Much of our meals out in Brazil included meat, in fact, nearly all did. I pushed the others to go to churrasco and what a BBQ it was. The others sat waiting for bloody chunks of seared meat to drip on their plates and I went straight to the salad bar of feta and Israeli cous cous, macaroni salad, sushi and French pastries (and lots and lots of veggies).

I filled my plate up and returned to see plantains, olives, butter and other spreads for our bread and more pao de queijo, flipping my coaster over to nao obrigado (and still got some jus on my plate).
Rio made me feel more of a vegetarian than France did, and the others around me were in love with the meat, saying it was the best they ever tasted.

I did like the plantains.

Brazil, Part 1

We arrived in Sao Paolo early morning, traffic creeping around us everywhere as we snaked through slow-moving mid-day streets. We had decided to stay at Fasano, in the Jardins, thinking that the chicest part of SP would decrease our chance of being robbed.

Sao Paolo had several food adventures. We started with Arabia, where we noticed that Brazilians wear jeans and button downs, men patting each other on the back as we dug into labne, fatoosh, and several kinds of breads. A woman next to us ordered watermelon juice and we drank cold mint tea. Dessert was a platter that allowed us to order by baklava and halva before we closed the meal with Arabic coffee.

While we ate our dinner at Fasano, which was incredibly expensive and not that good, we were much happier with our quiet morning at the Mercado Municipal (pictured), where at a chain food stand we had our first pao de queijo and cafe com leites as people around us shopped for Good Friday dinners of kilos of salt cod and olives and fruits.

Before we left for Rio, we visited a cafe across the street from the other swankiest hotel in SP - Emiliano - and had baguettes with cheese, fried eggs, and our first sucos (juices) - Liam's was lemon verbena and mint and pineapple, mine was apple and ginger and cayenne with not nearly enough of the latter two before we grabbed our second pao de queijo for the day. At the airport.

33

on the occasion of my 33rd birthday march 3, the best 33 eats of the past month.

birthday french toast adorned with the lemon to the left. mini-cupcakes from Union Market that are packaged differently every time and have frosting that is white outside and pink-tinged inside. homemade chai. kukicha in the afternoon. korean feast of tofu with garlic sauce, kimchi, soy-pickled jalapenos, and pa jun twice. hard-boiled eggs with anchovies or spicy pickles, spaghetti with meyer lemon, and marinated sardines at franny's. lassi for chana and paratha and lavendar masala chai.

salt cod hash at belcourt again. biscuits with ricotta and jam at belcourt, again. sunny eggs at little d with turkish cheese and beans and flatbread. le bernadin for the birthday with fluke laid out raw with gold leaf and rice krispies.

lemon butter cake. five pieces of white bread that the office manager's mother made. four cheese pies from trinidad bakery that she brought the next day. earl grey in the afternoon. medjool dates and blendheim apricots while i walk the streets of brownsville to spread the word about the school.

tortilla soup. refried red beans. 6.99 bag of tortilla chips. another baked egg.

all courses of our lunch at per se: cauliflower panna cotta with sweet and sour capers, salad with walnut beignets and stewed rhubarb, anglotti with goat cheese, homemade nougat and truffles and caramels, and the wine.

Belcourt Brunch

We missed brunch in Paris, trying to re-create it with courses of yogurt and muesli, pancakes, and some purchased croissants. It ended up looking more like Swedish breakfast. Our first week together in Brooklyn this fall, it was straight to brunch a few blocks from here.

Bellinis with maple, omelettes with squash and fresh cheese, biscuits and grits with it all, we were gladly American again.

As the months have passed, we've rarely branched out - who wants to travel further than a few blocks on a weekend morning (especially one peppered with snow or wind)?

Then I read on Tasting Table about a brunch place that had "reasonable" prices and took reservations. Somewhere in between the "house made labneh" and "home made biscuits with fresh ricotta, raw honey and preserves" I decided we would brave the slow Sunday F train to get there.

Early birds were there long before Belcourt opened, but despite the trek and snow flurries it met our highest expectations. Those biscuits were a definite, as well as the labneh, and Liam ordered Croque Madame while I had the salt cod hash with poached eggs and harissa pictured above.

It was like Paris - tarnished mirrors and tin bathroom walls and tight seating and harissa sprinkled in, but also with the luscious biscuits and ricotta and brunch feel that we missed.

I know, I know - it's been 8 months for me, and a few less for Liam - but we still feel really grateful for brunch. Even when it's not in Brooklyn.

New Orleans

One thing I miss about our Paris apartment was the light. And my camera. My pictures always came out great. Now I'm often using a phone, and they're not as clear or crisp or macro'd, but in the moment when I'm dipping beignets into au lait, something about it just feels necessary.

I had never been to New Orleans, yet I'd created this culinary wish - I just want beignets and coffee. Maya made it come true, walking us to Cafe du Monde, just a few blocks from our hotel, just an hour before our sessions were starting on Sunday.

I enjoyed the previous day's hotel breakfast. Smaller beignets, grits with cheese, hunks of potato, hotel eggs, Oprah's favorite tea. I chewed through each piece of fried dough at the hotel channeling other memories - soapapillas, carnival friend dough, zeppoles. It got me through.

Sunday morning was something else - a dirty table outside with tourists like us all around, and piles of powdered sugar between here and there. Our dough arrived swimming in the stuff and while I'm not usually a dipper, I plopped each one eagerly into my tiny cup of coffee.

3.00 each. 4.00 with tip. We left our cash on the table, bloated bellies ready for our day, and re-lived our other meals - I had had puppy drum for the first time (Lauren used to catch it in the summers so she knew what it was), a lot of praline, and a mediocre po'boy, but the beignets were truly the best.

Sushi Bowls

Maybe it was Restaurant Week, but something had me yearning for simple, healthy food last week. I then opened the cookbook I'd been both shunning and lauding, Super Natural Cooking. I'd had partial success with her recipes, and while many looked good, I wasn't always inspired.

Then I made these sushi bowls.

The note about sauteing mushrooms in the sidebar, the frozen edamame lonely in the side pocket of the freezer, the avocado that tasted great but was clearly cold-burned (see the lines in the picture) ... all of these inspired me to whip up these bowls.

Yes, brown rice may cost 5.99 for a pound at a market, but it was worth it.

The citrus soy vinaigrette, the cream of the avocado with the crunch of sesame and vegetal note of nori - we ate through our bowls as though they were endless. And got up for more.

I don't often make one-pot meals, but this one is a winner. The chunky lentil soup too - cooked long and topped with parmesan and good olive oil, these helped us recover from excess.

Until we went out for Liam's birthday on Friday. Lobster poached in butter and I was a goner again.

The Early Bird Catches The Worm

When I called Gramercy Tavern to say I knew they didn't accept reservations, so what could I expect for a weekend lunch, they told me to get in line.

I liked it.

"There's just one table for 6, so you if you get here, and someone else has it, you have to wait 1 1/2 to 2 hours until they're done. You can call and see if it's available. Sometimes people are lining up when we open..."

Those were the magic words that led me, my parents, and Liam to the door of Gramercy Taven at 11:00 for a drive-by, then in line at 11:35. While we waited for Liam's mom and her husband, another customer came up and tried the door right behind me.

"We're in line" my dad told him.

Which was good - because later, we realized he had a party of five.

And so, for the first of several times this weekend, the early bird got the fantastic lunch with the perfect round table in by the window for parents to meet and food to be enjoyed.

I was entranced with the arrangements - apples and pine cones on our table, grasses at the bar, paperwhites and amaryllis at the side table. And of course, the food. We sampled nearly half the menu between the six of us - merguez swimming in harissa and chick peas, shredded carrots with calamari, heirloom cauliflower salad.

Entrees were a hit from chicken to an open faced ham sandwich to my mushroom lasagna that was fired in the wood oven.

And the desserts - it's almost difficult to convey how tasty they were with just descriptions of ingredients: pear tartin with a smear of creme fraiche and hazelnuts, an egg-shaped selection of three ice creams, a luscious and fat apple pie, and for me one plate of cookies that included caramel dipped in dark chocolate with pepitas. If only I had room to try the martini with lavender or the Harrar coffee with orange, cardamon, and cinnamon.

We'll just have to go back.

We watched the line snake around the foyer, children peering through grasses and older men patting the hostess on the back. We heard about waits of 1 1/2 hours, pleas to move more quickly from bar to table, even a few glances at our table, but we had it. 25 minutes in the cold? Worth every minute.

And we can't wait to go back.

Tea Time

I miss the days of the Bay Area Tea Tour.

Friends and I circulated among several of the top tea shops in the Bay Area and compared. Places that don't give you milk even if one were to ask for it? No thanks. Birds in cages above your seat and old men playing Go next to you? Of course.

In Paris, there was a place for tea and cakes in the afternoon - with a special after 4 o'clock for 9 euros (that rose to 10 soon after I discovered it).

Yesterday, with an doctor's appointment that went quickly, I found myself with an afternoon hour in the city. I needed a place to do work that was also the hip cafe that would make me feel like I-am-working-in-the-city.

A place I could share with friends or see something with a story worth telling or just have a good cup of tea, with milk if I wanted.

I found it - a small place with a chair pushed against a wall and in between coats and people. I put down my 3 bags, huge coat, 2 scarves and settled my eyes on them.

Bundt cakes.

They do it for me every time. As soon as I saw lemon and asked about chocolate orange, I figured it was my best bet. One mug of assam and a slice later, I was doing my work on a cold, cold day in the city... if only it were my neighborhood, I'd have my place.

Brooklyn Food Adventure: Middle Eastern Food on Atlantic Avenue

In between Urban Outfitters and Trader Joe's, there's a street of Middle Eastern grocers, pastry shops, nut and candy stores and fantastic cafes. Sara did the research and we enjoyed a morning full of old favorites (the pastry with the stringy cheese in the middle on top of a sev-like sweet soaked in syrup that you microwave that I first had on my Other Side of Palestine tour) and new treats (Yemeni food pictured above).

The Yemen Cafe was worth our wait (we had great Turkish coffee and Arabic tea across the street first). Molten hot pots of beans and tomatoes simmering, the largest hunk of fresh baked bread (pictured above), a smear of babaghanoush and cup after cup of a dark black, sage and sweetened tea, yum.

Our adventure ended with pockets full of fresh pitas, pistachio halva, and some date cream with almonds. One shopkeeper told me to eat the halva with a banana (new to me), which I haven't gotten to try yet, but look forward to.

For now, the goods are on the table for some Turkish-like breakfast each day.

Next up: Arthur Avenue for Italian and Jackson Heights for Indian.

Sara may need to quit her day job and start leading tours!

Food Intentions for 2009

My 2008 intentions served me well as I transitioned from Paris to Brooklyn. I walk into the local cheese shop and know my pyrenees brebis from ossau-iraty. I stuffed several fish and served them successfully to friends. I had lunch at L'arpege and can finally tell the difference between Assam and Darjeeling.

There is currently salsify rotting in my fridge, again. Oysters left my life when I left Le Baron Rouge. I don't think I will ever be a confiture person with my toast or a willing salade consumer in my own home.

The vinegar mother made it here, and she's growing like crazy.

Food Intentions for 2009:

10. Korean chiles. Know 'em and use 'em.
9. Inspired by a cheese plate at the MoMA from Murray's Italian section (see above), I am in the market for 'flavored cheeses' and aim to find my favorite cow's milk with truffle and goat's with green peppercorn. 2009 is about flavor.
8. Brooklyn Cheese Club (complete with Oakland and Paris members!)
7. Make flatbreads. Pita. Foccaccia. Pizza.
5. Dinner/brunch parties 1x/month
4. Jackson Heights for Indian, Bay Ridge for Greek, Midwood for Kosher and other local food adventures.
3. Eat at a Michelin 3 star in NYC.
2. Continue to blog each week.
1. Demonstrate that it's possible to be an effective principal of a college-prep charter school for under-resourced students in Brooklyn AND cook delicious dinner during the week.

Parsi Food: Part Two

6" knob of ginger.
5 cinnamon sticks and a small cannister of cassia bark.
9 Thai bird chiles.
2 roasted sweet potatoes.
1 cup of moong dal.
3 cups of rice (first two came to me with bugs).
6 pieces of 'kitchen twine' made from cheesecloth with holes too big to make panir.
1 mushy banana.

These are just some of the ingredients that went into two days of Parsi cooking.

Above are several steps of Taro Rolls, with chard substituted for taro leaf. A paste of spices and chickpea flour and banana was pureed and then spread onto chard leaves. These were tied and steamed, and then cooled until firm enough to cut, at which point they were fried in an inch of oil and sprinkled with salt and a squirt of lime (and later, some of the Seared Ginger Raita). I served them with an Everyday Dal, Caramelized Rice (a bit burnt, but not in a yummy tadik type way), and a seafood dish with sweet potato instead of fish.

The only challenge? I haven't used those three spice mixtures yet.

Parsi Food: Part 1

Do this four more times. Don't ask why. Just do it. It's magic.

By the time I got to this line in a panir recipe, I was in love with My Bombay Kitchen by Niloufer Ichcaporia King.

The panir never looked like a cloudy sky breaking up, leading me to believe I just don't know how to coax curds from milk. Nonetheless, I packaged up the cheese cloth, pressed it with a can of coconut milk, and enjoyed it spread across hot chapatis with turmeric/ginger pickle and yogurt cheese.

I spent yesterday grinding spices and ginger for two of the triumvirate of Parsi spices: Parsi garam masala and dhana jiru (a garam masala of 17 spices). I tied a scarf around my nose while I ground then pressed the toasted spices through a strainer (see the dhana jiru above).

I then processed 3 oz each of garlic and ginger to make a paste that was the beginning of wafer par ida (aka eggs on potato chips) - King assures me that Bombay is filled with potato-chips works (Liam wasn't convinced).

Consider it Parsi breakfast food for dinner. The chapatis with cheese and pickle to build our immune systems (and my yellow, yellow hands) and eggs steamed on top of potato chips fried with ghee, onion, chiles, and coriander.

Next time I'll heed the advice of King's acquaintance who tells her "next time, try it with a little bit of cream poured over the chips before the eggs go on."

Le Sel (and the Holidays)

I was into the salt before Paris, but in Paris I truly fell in love with the thick, wet, gray fleur de sel from brittany. the salt man at the bastille market had tremendous patience for my terrible french and would give me free bags of 4-spiced salt and free caramels and i bought more salt than i ever had previously.

So I made fleur de sel toffee from Martha Stewart and the now-yearly salted chocolate caramels.

I tried world peace cookies again, and again, I failed.

The bits of chocolate alongside the sea salt are tasty, but crumby dough was not the vision that Dorie or Pierre had in mind when they came together to create this war-ender.

tea mix. I've packed away spoon cookies and wrapped up lemon bread and measured out baggies of chai. I've peeled and simmered applies for applesauce and fried up latkes to accompany.

I've gone through a 5lb bag of sugar and just over 2 lbs of butter.

Last Sunday it was 6 months since we were married and soon after, 6 months since I left Paris.

For every morning these days that I miss a slow cup of needle-thin green tea, I build relationships with another family grateful for the opportunity to have this school for their child. For every evening that I work too late to come home and roast sweet potatoes until they caramelize, I have a conversation with a child that moves them that much closer to meeting our behavioral expectations.

We have already seen more snow in a month than we've seen in 10 years. We have a favorite local restaurant for a weekly date and a market nearby (although I'm hesitant to reveal to you the price of butter). We are thrilled to be back in the US with some of our oldest, and newest friends. We are glad to to be blocks away from Prospect Park and to both have cell phones.

We continue to gorge on jalapenos and nachos and Annie's mac and cheese.

And on the shortest day of the year, when Susan Sandburg came onto weekend edition to talk about the longest day of 2008 at le fete de la music in Paris, we smiled knowing we made the right, toughest, decisions this year, and with a little more patience we know 2009 will be even better. My school will have a location, a name, a staff, a student body. Liam will have gigs and a new album.

We'll have had at least 6 months physically together since married.

(you might even say we've had a lot going on)

And if you were here, I'd invite you over for some sweets. Straight outta my Brooklyn kitchen with a salty detour in Paris.

Jamoncillo de Nuevas

I am newly obsessed with jamoncillo de nuevas.

Two weeks ago in the depths of a Brooklyn chill, friends trooped across several boroughs to join us for huevos rancheros, spoon bread with various home made salsas and farm-made relishes, and beans and rice galore.

The inspiration for the Mexican theme was a recent issue of Saveur which featured sweets from Pueblo mainly focused on sweet potato, sugar, milk, some more sugar, and gorgeous crystallized fruits. In this sea of glowing pink hearts etched with Pueblo in white sugar and piles of tart-like sweet potato cookies there were flat expanses of jamoncillo. Milk fudge. With nuts and candied fruit.

I'm not one for candied fruit, so I stuck with just pecans and hoped for the best with the fudge. The milk and sugar took the full 35 minutes to caramelize and I doubted my candy thermometer most of the way until it began to smell like burning and I pulled it off before it hit 240 degrees.

5 minutes after waiting for the glossiness to subside, I stirred carefully with a wooden spoon and the hope that I had waited long enough to end up with fudge and not sauce.

I poured the searing liquid into the brownie pan and within minutes, I watched it harden. Shortly after, I picked out a corner and swooned - the canela was subtle enough to enhance the milk but not overpower with a cinnamon taste. The nuts were toasty and the fudge melted creamily.

The jamoncillo was a hit the next day. More so than the pepita brittle and polvorones (which were tougher than usual). As I think about my holiday baking, I'm tempted to bring these back for a second showing. Might go well with a box of salted chocolate caramels and spoon cookies.

Eating Out

We ate out differently in Paris than we do here. We lived in a tourist trap of 18 euro bagels with lox and mediocre menus for 34 euros. We had falafel. Tea. Croissants. Hot Chocolate.

We've realized we eat differently in New York. Our friend left her menus in this apartment so we could get take out. Each week we determine how to best eat out - Wednesday luxury or weekend date? Then we find ourselves out of town and Wednesday takes us to Franny's for homemade celery soda and a white pizza that I will write about twice because we adore it that much.

Last week we attempted to branch out to another local eatery, Flatbush Farm, that we'd eaten at previously. Relaxing and romantic with frisee salad and Bonnie Prince Billy playing and out of nowhere good, a fat roach crawling on Liam's still-on-the-table napkin. Two days later, a friend goes there only to see two.

I don't like to write about unappetizing things, but when they chose not to comp us, I chose to tell everyone how disgusted I was. And then I was cranky, "this is what we get for eating out," I grumbled at Liam and pledged to return to Morningstar Farm Chik Patties and haricorts verts the next night with Cheerios the next day for breakfast.

Or just go back to Franny's (pizza above), which has never failed us.

If only we could get into ordering in, we'll have fully made the transition to being (or at least seeming to look like) New Yorkers.