Dining with Ethel 05 Jul 08

As I mentioned in my smackdown post I didn’t bring a camera or notepad to Babbo, preferring to be a plain old diner enjoying an evening out. Obviously, my dining companions cook eat FRET and Mother of FRET discussed the food for 80% of the evening so I have no shortage of opinions, but there will be no photos, no dish-by-dish dissection of the evening. But frankly, I feel that it’s much more important that you learn about Ethel - Mother of FRET - than about Babbo. Because while there was memorable food, there was nothing more memorable than Ethel.

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Quick Bites: Ibby’s Falafel 20 May 08

I didn’t eat any of the vegetables, and I don’t feel guilty at all.

We’ve all had those days: you’re stuck at work later than you’d like, you’re tired, you’re not sure what you feel like eating, you don’t have the energy to conjure up that good ol’ pantry juju, and your kitchen still smells like pureed fish.

We all have go-to takeout for those days - pizza, pad Thai, General Tso’s chicken, bean and cheese burrito, whatever. Mine comes from Jersey City’s locally-famed Ibby’s Falafel: lamb shwarma, baba ganouj and a sweet, creamy namoura pastry to top it off.

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Boston II: Can I take this meal as a tax write off? 14 Apr 08

So I need to explain right up front that I have no pictures of Thursday night’s dining experience at No. 9 Park in Boston. Because sometimes I still forget my camera we were planning on eating in the restaurant’s cafe section, which would have meant a well-prepared but fairly straight-ahead 3 course prix fixe of dishes like pasta bolognese. Since I can and do take pictures of pasta bolognese at home, I thought I’d ditch the camera and have a relaxing, critique-free dinner. Once I realized the folly of this line of reasoning it was too late, and I was stuck with only a cellphone camera and insufficient lighting. Ergo, no photos.

In retrospect, I find it quaint that I thought I could go to No. 9 and restrain myself to the cafe menu, and even more precious that I thought I could go an entire evening without critiquing something.

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Boston I: Fine Burgers of Beantown 13 Apr 08

Burger the First: An above-average room service burger.

For the most part my travels are foodcentric, if not completely food-related. Before undertaking any journey, my most extensive travel research is on good restaurants, local specialties and street food, often to the detriment of other necessary pieces of knowledge like language (except for food-related terms) and currency (except the prices of common food items). When I travel to a place I’ve been before - I lived in Cambridge and Boston for several years in grad school - I like a mix of old favorites and new experiences. Since they use dollars and speak English* in Boston, I was free to focus entirely on the food.

*One must, of course, point out the unique variety of English that is the Boston accent. Also, it may be convincingly argued that many Cantabrigians (yes, it’s what they’re called and yes, it’s irritating) speak a unique form of English called Critical Neo-Academese.

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Eating Out: The United Nations 22 Mar 08

The filet mignon, or as the menu states “#4: The Boutros-Boutros.”

The really great thing about working for a non-profit organization is the pay.

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Sorry, I was choking on my own laughter and had to take a minute to compose myself. What I meant to say was that the great thing about working for a non-profit are the gala events, with their great speakers and their open bars. And if, for example, you were known to be your particular non-profit’s resident foodie, you might always get to go to the food tastings for said gala events. Ergo: eating out at the United Nations, locale of this year’s event, with food prepared by the delegates’ chef.

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Eating Out: Marco & Pepe 02 Mar 08

French Fries: They’re what’s for breakfast.

I woke up this morning sick as an old hound dog with the mange. I had brunch scheduled with some childhood friends, but had to call between hacking coughs to beg off because I knew that if I went I would probably drink too many bellinis in an attempt to forget about my various aches and pains. You’re probably thinking, “Shocking! I always thought bellinis were indicated for upper-respiratory infections. Why wouldn’t she go?” but I feel the responsibility to alert you to the fact that heavy drinking* does not, in fact, stave off illness. I know, I know.

Brian is still getting over the cold he just transmitted to me (his attempted cure: Drambuie), and we both spent the morning lolling around the apartment bemoaning our pathetic states and the lack of brunch. So we swore not to drink and went to brunch anyway, hoping that french toast might be the miracle cure that bellinis are not.

*Heavy drinking for me = 2/3 of a bellini. Shut up. No, you’re a wuss.

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