As Long As This Ice Doesn’t Melt / I Know I’ll Stay Alive

It is soul-crushingly hot in NYC.  Even in the shade, it’s unbearable.  I have never enjoyed summer weather (or any weather that is not snow), but days like this underscore exactly why heat is so commonly used as a metaphor for anger.  Best of all, at night when it “cools down” to the mid-80s (with 50% relative humidity), it’s still hot enough to merit a local heat advisory and keep me from my favorite anger outlet: a three-mile run through my neighborhood.  I cannot WAIT until this wave passes and I can start training again.

In the meantime, this is how I am coping:

1. Grande half-caff iced coffee, taken black. 
   Con: It will vaporize within 4 blocks unless you suck it down really, really fast.
   Pro: That momentary brain freeze will feel euphoric.
2. Aveeno Continuous Protection Sunblock Spray, 70 SPF.
   Pro: Honestly the best sunscreen I’ve come across in a while; very light, easy to apply, not greasy or irritating, and odorless.
   Con: Since I can’t see or feel it on my skin, I’m not sure how to confirm my suspicion that it just melts off my skin as soon as I step into direct sunlight.

Marathon Training Officially Starts Now

I (finally) joined the NYC Road Runners club!  Unfortunately, I didn’t become a member in time to guarantee entry into the 2009 NYC marathon.  Had I read the webpage more thoroughly last November (when I first decided that I wanted to run the NYC marathon), I would’ve signed up by the end of January, and would’ve been eligible to run next year.  Ah, well.  We’ll see how training goes, and if I feel like I’m ready in 2009, I can run a marathon in a different city, and then do NYC in 2010.  I would take my chances with the lottery, but we all know what kind of luck I have.

In the meantime, I’m going to check out some of the NYRR running clinics, so I can perfect my form and learn to run without getting these damn shin splints.  Being a member also means that I can participate in a variety of shorter races throughout the year.  I hope they have something in mid-July… being able to run a 5K would be a great birthday present to myself!

*Excited!*

I Know What Those So-Called “Early Adopters” Are Really Doing With Their Sidekicks

On the train back to Queens tonight, I found a seat next to a young man thoroughly engrossed in entering text into his RAZR.  When I stealthily glanced over at the text message he was composing, I saw that it was not actually a message… it was a few lines of awful slam poetry (or, worse, hipster rap).  God, it was bad.  I wish I remembered one of the rhymes.  What’s more troubling to me, however, is that this isn’t the first time I’ve seen people in the 18-24 set composing (abysmally bad) lyrics/poems on their cell phone on the subway.  If this is what the next generation has to offer, the future of hip-hop and poetry is dim indeed.

This Blog Is Quickly Devolving Into A Sad Knockoff Version Of “Midtown Lunch”

When I Googled “Rocky Mountain Cobb” to see if anyone else on the great wide Internet has publicly sung the praises of my favorite Chop’t specialty salad, no relevant results turned up. I remedy that today, with the first known post about this tasty lunchtime delight.

Chop’t is a relatively new NYC-based chain, and their key point of differentiation is that they will hack your custom salad to bits with a mezzaluna, and not just once, but as much as you direct them to hack it.  (I haven’t asked for extra hackage yet, though; stay tuned to see if I can make the staff reduce my salad to discrete atoms.)

Several weeks ago, I went for the first time, and finding the wall-sized list of potential salad toppings (er, “choppings”) too daunting, I ordered the Rocky Mountain Cobb off the menu.  I’ve been back many times since then, but I have yet to order a different salad.  I fucking love this damn Cobb salad.  It’s just Romaine lettuce, bleu cheese, cranberries, walnuts, and roasted chicken, with their slightly-sweet “secret recipe” House dressing, but I’m already getting regular cravings for the specific taste combination.

So yeah.  Rocky Mountain Cobb.  Delicious pile of chopped goodness.

Unlike The Union Square Cafe, The Union Square Whole Foods Has A Crappy Selection Of Beer And Nuts

Dear Whole Foods,

I am concerned about my inability to locate organic hazelnuts at your Union Square location today. In fact, you didn’t have ANY hazelnuts, not even a container of conventionally-grown ones. Why do you not stock such a delicious nut product? I look to you as the leader in providing me with high-end and organic grocery products, and hazelnuts certainly qualify as a higher-end food.

Moreover, I was not the only other person yesterday who was upset about your lack of hazelnuts. In fact, my two other aislemates scoured the shelves with me, refusing to believe that you stocked two brands of organic goji berries, but NO hazelnuts, in any form. WE LEFT THE STORE UNHAPPY, AND IN NEED OF HAZELNUTS.

My disappointment is such that I may sulk for the next six days and refuse to visit you until the next time I get a craving for raw-milk havarti.

Lick my unsatisfactory Diamond-brand nuts,

Sara

If I Blog Obsessively About Food, Maybe Ruth Reichl Will Adopt Me

I took my parents to Craft tonight for dinner.  I wanted to go somewhere interesting, but didn’t plan far enough in advance to get a reservation at wd-50 or Babbo, my first picks.  I’d been itching to try Craftsteak, but decided to book a table for Craft instead, anticipating that maybe Mom might be in the mood for something other than three courses of beef.

We arrived a little early, which gave us time to enjoy the restaurant while it was still quiet, and sample drinks from the bar.  The parents tried actual cocktails, but I dove into the wine immediately, starting with the only Riesling on the “by glass” menu.*  While Craft does have a decent wine list, and their extensive bottle collection is essentially on display in the coolers that border the dining room, the selection of wines you can order by the glass is rather abbreviated.

For dinner, Dad ordered the Crispy Fresh Bacon & Apple as an appetizer, a 28-Day Dry-Aged Sirloin as an entree, and Duck Confit & Onion Risotto as a side dish.  Both Mom and I ordered the tasting menu, which was served family-style (ahem, “Craft style”), in what seemed to be very small portions.  (By the end of the meal, as we labored through two dessert courses, we appreciated that the portions were actually quite reasonable.)  However, when Dad’s deep-fried bacon was brought to the table, we were all stunned to see five massive towers of crispy pork meat.  It was a LOT of bacon, by any measure, and especially after you saw the nominal amount of food that constituted two servings of the Tasting Menu.  Word of warning to other Craft-goers: the family-style portions are not consistent, and in a bizarre reversal, it seems like the richest food comes in the largest quantities, while the salads and vegetable dishes are quite small.  Tom Colicchio loves some animal fat.

Jamba Juice Doesn’t Taste As Good When You Pay For It With Cash

The DSL at “my” Jamba Juice has been down pretty much every time I’ve visited this month.  This means that they cannot accept any kind of plastic payment, including their own Jambacards.  This is detrimental to them (I’ve seen many customers just turn and walk out as soon as they see the “Cash Only” sign on the register), and frustrating for me, since I have a generously-endowed Jambacard, but rarely carry more than $10 in actual money.  I was committed to getting a massive dose of fruit and vitamins for lunch, but after handing over most of the bills in my wallet, that flu-slaying, vitamin-enhanced Mango Madness seemed a lot less magical. 

All These Visits To Woodside, And I Still Can’t Pronounce “Slainte”

Carolyn’s in New York!  Hurrah!

We celebrated her first night back in the big city with delicious cheeseburgers and pints of Smithwick’s at Donovan’s in Woodside.  It was a delicious meal, evidenced by how quickly I inhaled my burger, and I was reminded as I drained my beer how much better Smithwick’s tastes when it’s poured right from the keg.  After dinner, we walked past her old apartment and through Doughboy Park, and rode the 7 train back to Jackson Heights.

Yay!

Outside: Mercury Falling. Inside My Body: Mercury At Record High.

I’ve known for a long time that my favorite sushi fish tended to be loaded with toxic heavy metals.  But it breaks my heart to read the NY Times article that specifically calls out Sushi Seki as one of the restaurants with dangerously high mercury levels in their tuna.  After I just “discovered” it, and wanted to go back on a weekly basis and take all my friends there.  So sad.

Of course, I happened to come across the article just after I darted out to get a tuna-and-salmon roll from the local deli.  I was devouring all eight large delicious maki while reading how many mercury atoms were darting about in my fish, and how health officials suggest that a woman of my size eat no more than four small pieces of bluefin every three weeks.  Nooooooooooo.  I better not need an MRI anytime soon; my blood must be practically silver.

If this isn’t an argument for cleaning up our environment, I don’t know what is.

Achieve Enlightenment With The Noble Eightcourse Meal

Last night the online team and I had dinner at Tao with a sales rep we worked with on Halls.  It was a lot of fun, and the food was quite enjoyable, from steak to sake.  We could’ve crafted a rather satisfying meal entirely from the appetizers/small plates, though… I start salivating anew when I think about those pork potstickers and duckmeat dumplings and the spicy tuna roll, sliced into thick rounds.  Mmm. 

For my main course, I had a NY strip steak, done very rare (I’ve started to use the qualifier “very” in order to emphasize that yes, I understand the meat will arrive bleeding and cool to the touch… and that is exactly how I want it).  I did wish that they offered more raw seafood dishes, though.  Since developing an unhealthfully frequent sushi habit (I am going to start attributing any weight gain to the amount of mercury building up in my blood), I no longer enjoy cooked fish.  However, steak tartar is a decent stand-in; it has the same kind of smooth and chewy texture, the rich mouthfeel of unadulterated animal flesh.  As an added bonus, it seems that raw meat kills my protein cravings even more efficiently than a cheeseburger.

We capped off the meal with a molten chocolate cake, coconut ice cream, and not one but TWO fruit plates.  (It’s not a truly luxurious dining occasion without abundant quantities of red raspberries.)  The fruit plates, loaded with mandarin oranges and berries and pineapple and perfectly ripe lychees, were topped with a scoop of citrusy sorbet, and a single sugared cilantro leaf–very elegant.

In addition to the fantastic food, we had a great view– we got to sit right next to the giant Buddha, in one of the cushioned booths in the back.  I was impressed with the sheer size of the restaurant… somewhat unassuming from the outside, but truly massive once you get past the coat check.