Food Cart Take Two

Continuing my "Cart for a Day" themed Thursday, the falafel couple outside the 7-11 on 15th and JFK makes a delicious, albeit messy, falafel burrito (I call it a burrito because the pita is thin like a tortilla). Their falafel balls are not of the crunchy on the outside and dry on the inside variety. They have more of an all around chewy consistency, like a savory munchkin, or a potato croquette from Sal's in Carroll Gardens (Google it and order a few. They're the shit). The hummus is silky smooth, and the vegetables are fresh (unlike a certain food truck I've written about in the past). The only complaint is that it's not really lunch-size, but it's too big to be a snack. At $3.50, it should quell the hunger, no? And I'd overdo it with two, not to mention the fact that I'd be spending seven bucks on a meal from a cart. These things will have to be ironed out in the future, as I'm certain that I will return. Oh yeah, and these guys didn't dump ketchup all over my lunch, like that fucker from this morning. Buen provecho.

Broken Breakfast

Dear Toothless Food Cart Vendor,

The order was "bacon, egg, and cheese; salt, pepper, hot sauce." Please do not presume that I want half a bottle of ketchup as well. The only thing worse than ketchup on eggs is purple ketchup on eggs. That, or maybe eating a tin of skoal.

Regards,
Fidel

Live Strong

Lance coming out of retirement to cycle with a message? Or could it be the fact that li'l Phelpsy-poo stole Armstrong's thunder as the world's greatest athlete? Seven Tours vs. Eight medals. The timing's a bit fishy, no?

Qdo(n't)ba

Singular reader, I believe you are well versed on my little Chipotle problem. Not having one within lunching radius, I resort to Qdoba, whose similar burrito stylings I sampled today. The verdict in question form:

Would it kill you to keep an eye on the rice? Every single bite was a soggy and mushy mess. I could swear that it was minute rice, and if I paid a bum $5 to dig through the trash at the end of the day, I wouldn't be surprised if there was a surfeit of empty red boxes intermingled with the avocado skins.

The pork? An arid desert of flavorless flesh. It's doubtful that a grain of salt even made it on the loin.

The salsa? The corn offering's corn component was undercooked, and the spicy offering tasted more like ketchup.

Three strikes, Qdoba, and you're out (but I will likely go there again tomorrow to try out the chicken burrito and cross my fingers that the rice won't be a disaster). Buen Provecho.

Flipping the Script

This is freakin' amazing. I wish Nebraska was a little bit closer.

Dinner in Hell

Google "Rachael Ray is the devil" and you'll come up with pages upon pages of results. Sadly, I couldn't find the original article I was looking for; it had a wonderfully childish picture of Ms. Ray adorned with a goatee, two slits for eyes, and horns (my favorite likeness of the Prince(ss) of darkness). Getting to the point, which is not "Satan lives among us," rather, it's that I bought my wife a subscription to Everyday with Rachael Ray, and I was pleasantly surprised with one of the recipes, the Pita Salad. Don't hate the player, hate the game.

Channeling Alice Waters, the recipe calls for local produce that's available at the end of the summer, tossed with a light dressing of lemon juice, garlic, and olive oil (or EVOO in devilspeak). An added dimension of crunch comes from pita bread that has been baked in the oven for 10 minutes. It's the perfect meal for when you go play squash before the grocery store, then spend too much time at the grocery store because the grocery store's changing from a SuperFresh to a PathMark and you can't find anything, then get in a nonsensical fight that lasts longer than it should, and finally you arrive at dinner way past 9pm. On a weeknight. Buen Provecho (or Yum-O! in devilspeak).

Pita Salad for 2:
1/2 head of romaine lettuce
1/2 red pepper
2 tomatoes
1 cucumber
2 pitas, cut into eighths
Juice of one lemon
1/4 cup olive oil
Small garlic clove, minced
Salt and pepper to taste

Bake the pita in a 350 degree oven for 10 minutes. Whisk the lemon juice, olive oil, and garlic in a big bowl. Chop all the vegetables and toss with dressing. Add pita and toss again. The recipe also called for fresh mint and fresh parsley, but we skipped both because our grocery store's herb selection sucks.

Aqua Fit and LA Fitness Rant

I have nobody to blame but myself for not checking the class schedule, but would it really be that difficult to keep at least one swim lane open during water aerobics? Furthermore, this no towel service thing is a flippin' joke. How can you have a pool and no towel service? It's like starting a fire knowing that there's no water around to put it out. And finally, I understand that demographics require the location to be in a strip mall, but please do not go on and on about making a commitment to fitness and then park yourselves a hundred feet from imminent and slow death by processed foods. LA Fitness, you get a C-. Barely.

How I Spent Last Weekend

Perusing the pits of this year's Red Bull Soap Box Race in Manayunk, I'm kicking myself for my general lack of initiative. On the other hand, spectating from a covered porch doesn't suck too much. I'm nearing the end of my ability to drink for 14 hours straight and then function in the days following, but much like Brett Favre, it's hard to give up the things you love, no matter how much abuse you may have to endure.

Some of the takeaways/highlights:

1. Philadelphians don't fuck around. Even in the midst of a hurricane, the event was chock full of blue collar/white collar/popped collar spectators, most likely in attendance for any potential carnage.

2. If you're bringing beer in your cargo pockets, make sure your shorts have a belt.

3. Emergency rain ponchos are pretty freakin' sweet.

4. My wife is an amazing beer pong player.

5. I'm pretty sure I agreed to an ultimate frisbee league. If you see me on the street, you're totally allowed to punch me.

6. The tie that binds is always John Cusack films. Better Off Dead is my personal favorite.

7. If indeed you decide to make the commitment to a 14 hour drinking day, be sure to end it with a cheesesteak and cheese fries, and if you can't balance on your own, don't be a hero and try to put others to bed.

Wearing Dockers...And Loving Every Minute of It

Flat front and olive in color, everything's coming up Fidel with my new pair of Dockers. Boy, I really need to find myself someplace to eat.

The Aftermath

Instead of eating vegetable soup and maintaining a raw diet, I've gone the way of the kid with the crusty moustaches on the Wendy's commercial and made the personal choice to become a meatatarian. To be more exact, I went on a mild food and liquor marathon, stopping only to refill my plate and/or glass with very bad food (bad in the sense that any cleansing that may have happened is now null and void). Presently, I'm tapering off, but it was hard to say no to the enormous chafing dish filled with corned beef hash this fine morning.

(I promise to get back to better reviews, dear reader. I apologize for this drivel. Stay tuned for something much more interesting than the breakfast buffet at the Rochester Courtyard by Mariott and their offering of made-to-order eggs)

Back to Zero

So I bailed early. Twelve hours early, to be exact, but only because this weekend is Labor Day, which means I'll be called back to the grill to prepare an assortment of perfectly seasoned and seared animal flesh. I want to have enough time to prepare my intestines for the binge that will likely ensue. And what was it like to have something other than sweet lemon on my tastebuds? In a word: glorious. Variety is truly the spice of life. And eating. I also snuck a few bites of the vegetable soup I'll be eating today (and that of which I presently reek).

At the end of it all, I feel amazing, and the added bonus is that I lost 20lbs, so I can put the elastic pants back in the closet. If you can shut the world off AND you can make food your enemy for 10 days, I highly recommend taking the plunge. When you're done, pat yourself on your newly flat tummy and smile. Buen Provecho.

Vegetable Soup Recipe:
1 bunch kale, roughly chopped
2 potatoes, quartered
3 carrots, diced
3 ribs celery, diced
1 medium onion, diced
1 long hot pepper, or any hot pepper, sliced
Salt, pepper, and garlic powder to taste

Sweat the onions, carrots, and celery in olive oil until onions are translucent, about 3 mins. Add the rest of your vegetables and spices, bring to a boil, then cover and simmer the fuck out of it (an hour or so).

Resolve

Take note: traveling and cleansing do not play nice in the sandbox. Yet another test of wills yesterday as I got stuck in the conference room seat directly in front of the bagels, and subsequently, the sandwiches. But today is the last day of this torture. I'm a little disappointed at the amount of weight loss, but I think that's more a function of the fact that I became such a fat shit. Alas, the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, right?

Mental status: I'm no longer crazy, but I am a little angry
Tummy status: Ready to eat buffalo wings, tomato pie, cheesesteak, pizza, chicken parm, soup dumplings, and pork fried rice all in one sitting (and wash it down with an assortment of beers, including Miller Lite).
Energy level: Still way up, although it was tough getting out of bed this morning.

Tomorrow I drink orange juice and eat vegetable soup. I'm accelerating the reintroduction of food (which could be bad), but I'm flippin' starving. See you on the other side. Buen provecho.

Numb

Like the frostbitten mountaineers less than one hundred feet from the peak of Everest, I have become devoid of feeling. And poop. The morning hums along and I am literally empty. Last night I played squash for the first time in three months. I was surprised that I didn't pass out from lack of food. I was not surprised that I flailed about the court and generally sucked the big one. No ball control, poor T management, flat feet. It was all wrong. Luckily the new club has no court fees and is seemingly uncrowded (6 courts and 138 members), so I can catch up on much needed practice. Getting back to the cleanse, I'm starting to wonder what will happen in it's wake. Will I submerge myself in a grease-laden sea of fast food? Or will I follow Mr. Burroughs' hippie ass advice and only eat raw? I wish I could subscribe to the Marc McGehan diet: rice and beans and more rice. One thing is for sure. I'm definitely going to get shitfaced. Buen provecho.

Six Down, Four to Go

This weekend was a severe test of wills as I watched my brother-in-law Wii bowl a 300 and had to pass on the congratulatory round of shots. I also had to pass on a pile of grilled burgers, charred hot dogs, red potato salad, soft pretzels with cheese sauce, and about fifty Miller Lites. It was my own personal vision quest, and leaving the party left me with a new resolve to ride this thing out. It also left me really fucking bitter and hungry. But we're getting ever closer to that steamy bowl of vegetable soup, and I feel better than I've felt in a long time. It's good to clean yourself out every now and again, if for nothing else than to reunite with your beloved foodstuffs at the end of your journey.

(You may note that I'm going completely crazy. I could have sworn I was hallucinating the other day. I've had the mouth of a sailor. And I'm even enjoying the musical stylings of Li'l Wayne. God help me)

Road Show

I'm not hungry at all. That's a goddamned lie. There's a bowl of M&Ms sitting on the receptionist's desk less than 12 feet away from me. I'm ready to give it all up for a couple of chocolatey crunches. Seriously. I think this is my first test of willpower, and it's getting mucked up by the fact that I'm back in NYC and I've already thrown back the quart of juice I brought along and I'm 7 hours away from another sip of sweet, sweet lemonade. This must be how bees feel on their way to the flowers, feverishly flapping their ricepaper wings in order to keep their stripey fat asses aloft. That makes no sense at all. Oh well, forget it. I'm going to drink some water and hope that Jesus will give me strength enough to make it through the rest of the workday. Buen Provecho.

Sleepwalking

The evening tea requirement is starting to interfere with my slumber. I was once again jarred from sleep to take care of business, which now resembles boogers. Clearly (no pun), there's little left on my insides. I'm starting to battle hunger, be it the commuter with a sack of McDonald's on the way home, or just the morning walk from the train through a food court, where the smell of bagels braids itself with my nose hairs. In a couple days time, they say the hunger's supposed to subside. I can see it getting worse, especially as we go into the weekend, when drinking all day is not only acceptable but also encouraged (I encourage myself to drink during the day and I find it acceptable). I've a few days to mentally prepare for the temptation, but until then, I raise my glass of lemonade to all you eaters and readers. Buen provecho.

Yellow is the New Brown

I honestly thought that I would be chugging this "lemonade," since it's the only thing I can consume other than water (and Philly water, if you've ever had it, has the faint flavor of cigarette butts), but after a hair past 24 hours, my teeth are starting to hurt. I think I'll have to up the brushing to more than a few times a week.

Moving along to other fun changes my body is going through, the other end is now dispensing liquids instead of solids, although a few did sneak out a 4am this morning as a result of the herbal tea I drank before bed. Surprisingly, there hasn't been much action aside from each morning's "internal bath." The upshot is that I get to catch up on some reading.

No major hunger to speak of, but we're early on. Plus, I'm pretty sure I ate enough to hibernate for most of the winter, so my reserves are pretty full.

Stay tuned for more updates, and enjoy your food, because I can't.

What Goes Up Must Come Down

Today (actually last night) is the beginning of my first foray into the world of "cleansing." Yes, I talked heaps and piles of doggy doo when a friend of my wife went through with it. I couldn't possibly understand why someone other than those shitheads in Hollywood would put themselves through such torture. And then hearing that it was a way to purify the body, well then you might as well blast some Yanni and kick your own ass. Almost a year later, I'm eating my words instead of eating food, and every now and again taking an internal bath (use your imagination), so as to purify my own body. My gustatory excesses over the last few months have left me 20 pounds heavier and quite unhappy with my overall health. So for the next ten days, like it or not dear 2 readers, I'm going to wear out my backside and give you all the clinical details in the most creative way possible. That way we can all hopefully return to the happier days of enjoying the food instead of just cramming it in my piehole and then being pissed off that I ate so much. Wish me luck.

Sapporo Me Another One

The continuation of the caloric onslaught that marks my final days in NYC led me to Go last night, normally a late night beer fueled glutton fest, but this time for dinner a little earlier on. After multiple beers with an old boss and a gallery opening curated by a professional sailor, what better way to end the night than with a plate of octopus balls and dynamite yaki (okonomiyaki with kimchi), and of course some more goddamn beers? Here's what I've learned after multiple visits, including this, the final one:

1. The sushi here sucks, so don't get it. You're better off eating poison straight from the box. In fact, you should only order from the laminated menu with the grill specials. That means octopus balls, any of the pancake options, and fish sausage stuffed with cheese.

2. They're only open at night, but they're open late. I would say that the later you go, the better the food tastes.

3. Drowning whatever's in front of you in mayonnaise is always a good (delicious) idea.

4. The service is pretty crappy, but I probably wouldn't give a shit either if I was serving some drunk round-eye.

5. I'm hung over.

Buen Provecho.

Bookends

As my Brooklyn days dwindle, I am ever eager to cram as much food in my mouth from as many locations as possible. Hovering in between nostalgia and consistency, my lovely wife and I decided on a final meal at Joya, which was actually the first place I dined upon landing in Cobble Hill. Remember that you are Joya, and to Joya you shall return.

The place is an all-around slam dunk. You get cheap ass food, local artwork, the owner's in a band, minimalist decor, and an 8 out of 10 on the service scale. If it weren't for the crowds, we'd probably eat there more often. Unfortunately, last night's food missed the mark. Maybe that's too much of a blanket statement. It was the Pad Thai (white man's Thai) and the warm beer that put the rest of what was on the table in vertigo. There was way too much plum sauce, giving the dish an unbearable sweetness that lingered far too long in your mouth, and the noodles themselves had the rubbery consistency of poorly cooked calamari. Aside from this unfortunate mishap (really the centerpiece of our meal), the rest was delicious, although the whole fish I ordered was filleted such that I spent a lot of time deboning. Moving on to dessert (which put me over the edge and made me want to deliver a food baby), we opted for the fried banana. Take a note, readers, skip the appetizer to save room for this masterpiece. It's a banana spring roll surrounded by neapolitan ice cream. The fried wrapper adds a savory note to the pile of cream and sugar, and it's a perfect ending to what is usually a perfect meal.

Overall, one hell of a goodbye meal. And for $50 all in, including booze, it's still the best value in Cobble Hill when it comes to Thai food. As a pair of bookends, I bid you adieu, Joya. I hope our paths can cross again, and soon. Buen Provecho.