Tag Archives: midtown east

Why Life is So Great Right Now

Posted by plumpdumpling on July 30, 2010 – 12:00 pm
Filed under creepy boyfriend obsession, everyone's married but katie, living in new york sucks so hard, no i really do love ohio
Tagged as , , , ,

1) Last weekend, I was out all afternoon on the hottest day of the year, and Kamran texted me at one point to say that he thought the air conditioner had stopped working. I arrived at his apartment later with a couple of iced coffees just to make fun of him and his overactive imagination, but no, there was definitely warm air coming out of his vent. We spent the remainder of the night sitting perfectly still on the couch, afraid that moving would allow the sweat rivers dammed in our hair to unleash on our foreheads. It. Was. Miserable.

Way wore than the night we lost power in my apartment, because Kamran lives in a studio with windows on only one side of the room, so there’s no way to create a cross breeze unless you open the door. And I wouldn’t have been entirely opposed to propping the door if New Yorkers weren’t so infamously curious about other people’s habitats; you know every single person who walked by would’ve stopped dead to watch us gnawing on ice as we watched Manhunter.

I texted my best friend, Tracey, about it, and she suggested I fly to Ohio and enjoy her central air. I also considered going back to my own apartment, figuring that a single wall unit for all 900 square feet was better than nothing, but I didn’t want to leave Kamran alone with his take-home law school exams. We went to bed around midnight, but Kamran woke up at 2 a.m. feeling like he was having trouble breathing and thinking we’d need to go to a hotel, which made me EXCITED. But then he remembered a box fan hidden in the back of one of his closets and aimed it right at us so we could at least not die during the night.

Two days later–after his exams were all finished, of course–his landlord graciously had a guy come and install a brand new unit with a timer and remote control so we never have to leave the couch again.


2) You may think of me as some huge important chef thanks to my starring role in Julie & Julia and my wildly popular food blog, but the truth is that about the most I do is heat up some hotdogs for breakfast in Kamran’s convection oven. But his oven went out in March, and we kind of didn’t bother to do anything about it, which means I’ve been heating up my hotdogs in skillets.

Skillets.

But early this week, when the new air conditioner went in, the landlord also sent him a new microwave. A huge one, with a light underneath to illuminate the stovetop, and a vent on top to keep the apartment from smelling like pigparts.


3) Last night, I met Kamran to go shopping for toilet paper (romantic!), and as we were leaving Duane Reade (a pharmacy that got its start in NYC at the corner of Duane Street and Reade Street–clever!), I realized that it was my chance to buy my favourite generic lipgloss, which I’ve been without for several months now but have been too lazy to walk an extra block to the Duane Reade for because the CVS near his house is so much nicer. I forget sometimes that the littlest things can make such a huge difference to my happiness.


4) I’m in Ohio for the weekend for my stepsister’s wedding! This means I’m the only one of the five of us kids who isn’t married. Last time I was home, I told my grandmother that Kamran and I are going to California to visit his parents early next month, and she said, “Oooooh, are you going to pin him down while you’re there?” And I said, “Um, haven’t I done that already? We’ve been together almost four years now. The only thing we haven’t done is move in together.” She didn’t like that.



And you?

These Boots Were Made for Walkin’

Posted by plumpdumpling on July 20, 2010 – 12:00 pm
Filed under funner times on the bus, it's fun to be fat, why i'm better than everyone else
Tagged as , , ,

I do not run for things. Like, physically. This is perhaps the reason why the gym doesn’t work out for me. I would much, much rather be late to something than to hurry myself, to rush across the street on a flashing Don’t Walk sign to catch a fleeting bus or to plow down some station stairs to catch a train sitting with its doors open for an extra second. I think people who run for things look stupid. I hate people who are too eager. I hate people who care about things too much when they’re things I don’t care about.

Yet last Friday morning, I found myself turning the corner onto 42nd Street, seeing the bus waiting at the stop, noticing there was still a long line of people waiting to get on, and actually breaking out in a run. I have no idea why. I was running late, but why would I care about running late? Maybe it’s that I knew I would be getting to the stop just as the bus was pulling away and that everyone on the bus would know I had meant to get on it and that that would be more embarrassing that bothering myself to run for it. I’m irrational like that.

So I took off in the fastest jog I could in a pair of really rubbery flip-flops, and things were going pretty well. I probably could’ve walked just as fast if I really wanted to put in the effort of swinging my arms and rolling my hips and all, so I figured I was still looking fairly nonchalant to anyone who might be judging my eagerness, yet I hopefully looked like I cared enough about making it onto the bus that the driver would take pity and wait on me if everyone else loaded quickly.

But then, halfway down the block, the toe part of one of my flip-flops suddenly somehow doubled under itself and messed up my rhythm, and I had to stop to straighten things out. Just then, this beautiful brown-skinned woman went gliding past me in a summery black dress, her natural hair highlighted with a white faux flower. Her long, slender legs, fitted with soft black ballerina flats, flitted in front of her one at a time like those of a more-graceful gazelle. I somehow expected that she’d stop, that we’d laugh about me trying to run in my stupid shoes, and that we’d walk arm in arm to the bus. Instead, she probably laughed as my shorter, stouter legs, bound in too-tight, too-hot jeans pounded the pavement in comparison, and while she boarded the bus nimbly with a bounce, I hoisted myself up, out of breath and windblown with the entire bus glowering at me for making them wait.

That’ll teach me to try.

How to Water Plants in NYC

Posted by plumpdumpling on July 13, 2010 – 10:30 am
Filed under living in new york is neat
Tagged as ,

You should’ve seen the look this guy gave me when he saw me taking a picture of him.

People in some foreign countries don’t have any water at all, and we spray ours all over the sidewalk. I find it kind of sad and kind of awesome.

(Mostly awesome.)

Clearly, I’m Destined for a Long Career in Erotica-Writing

Posted by plumpdumpling on May 28, 2010 – 2:15 pm
Filed under bigtime celebrity, living in new york is neat
Tagged as , , ,

My jack-of-all-trades friend Alan Corey of A Million Bucks by 30: How to Overcome a Crap Job, Stingy Parents, and a Useless Degree to Become a Millionaire Before (or After) Turning Thirty fame is a bigshot over at NabeWise, a new website devoted to revealing what makes NYC and San Francisco neighborhoods worth living in.

He asked me to do a series of guest posts about the neighborhoods I love most . . . in the style of a romance novel. Having never read a single romance novel in my life because I’m too much of a literary elitist, I was obviously the perfect choice for the task.

But they ran my post, anyway!

And it’s almost word-for-word what I sent them! Although the things they decided to leave out were obviously the best parts. Such as the phrase “like a mouthful of man-nectar between parted lips” and my mention of “buttflaps on old-timey pajamas”. Who doesn’t love buttflaps?! What I’m saying is–if you notice the same weird mistakes in the article that I do, rest assured that I wasn’t the one who made them. Not that I need to defend my reputation to you assholes.

Anyway, go read my post! And (please) make all of your friends read it, too, so I’ll have motivation to start on a super-sexy blogging-related Harlequin romance novel.

New York City is Supposed to be Devoid of Nature, and That’s Why I Moved Here

Posted by plumpdumpling on May 21, 2010 – 12:00 pm
Filed under living in new york is neat, stuff i hate, super furry animals
Tagged as , , ,

I spent my entire morning commute yesterday thinking that something was crawling on me. Now, my morning commute is only five stops on the train, but rush hour trains are always held up at the stations by passengers trying to cram themselves in, so five stops can take a half an hour. So picture me feeling itchy all over for a half an hour, adjusting the tags on my shirt and jacket in case that was the problem, furiously scratching the places I felt it most.

At first I thought it might be my imagination, because I do drop acid before going to work every morning, after all. But at one point, I actually felt like something was crawling on my ear. And I felt like the guy across from me on the train was watching it happen. I tried to distract myself with my Kindle, but I kept having to reach up every two minutes to brush existent or non-existent things off of my face. I wanted to get out a mirror and have a look, but I thought it was better to not know for sure, considering what my reaction might be.

I had it in my mind that it might be a spider, and I am totally scared of spiders. Like, scared in the way that if someone put a fake one in my lunch or on my pillow, I would never talk to that person again. Growing up on a farm, I was running downstairs nightly to wake my dad up and make him kill one I had or had maybe spotted on the wall beside my bed. Even now when I go to Ohio to visit, I’m on a constant look-out for spiders all over the house, and last time I was home and made my sister kill one for me that was dropping from the ceiling, she asked me, “How did you manage to survive twenty-some years in the country?” In that same trip, I made my best friend, Tracey, reach across me while we were in the Taco Bell drive-thru to pluck one of those little hairy spiders off of the armrest attached to my door. I really think I’m more equipped to deal with cockroaches somehow.

Anyway, I finally got to work and ran to the bathroom to check out my face. I didn’t see anything, so I officially chalked it up to my wild imagination and did my business. As I was washing my hands, though, this cute little spider came down on his web right in front of my face FROM MY HAIR. It was then that I remembered walking underneath a tree and noticing a spider hanging from it at the very last moment that morning, but never did I consider that it might have jumped on me. I tried to scream, but only air came out, and even though the last thing I want to do in the world is purposely touch a spider, I reached up and smacked it away.

And then I frantically checked the floor for it, but it was nowhere to be seen. And then I spent the rest of the day itching myself and being completely miserable.

Keep it together, New York City. My dad already thinks I’m stupid enough for living here.

Posted by plumpdumpling on May 3, 2010 – 10:30 am
Filed under living in new york sucks so hard
Tagged as , ,

Saturday: a bomb scare closes down Times Square.

Sunday: someone kills himself by jumping from Kamran’s apartment building.

WTF, NYC?

And That’s Why I Hate Old People

Posted by plumpdumpling on August 20, 2009 – 1:55 pm
Filed under my uber-confrontational personality
Tagged as ,

So I’m walking up 43rd Street after work to Kamran’s apartment the other day. I usually walk up 41st, but I’m feeling lazy, and the incline on 43rd is much smaller. There’s an old woman on the sidewalk twenty feet ahead of me, and I’m thinking about how sad it is that her body has really lost all signs that it was ever attractive. I realize that a simple underwire bra would make all the difference in the world in keeping her boobs from making a slope down to and then blending in with her protruding belly underneath her grey t-shirt, but I suppose you get to an age where even having your Victoria’s Secret shipped to your home in an unmarked box seems like too much to bother with.

I’m feeling a little sorry for her, because you know her husband ran off with some Russian hussy years ago, and she’s really let herself go with only the dog at home to judge her. But then, just as I’m two feet behind her, she turns on her wooden cane and begins walking up the sidewalk. I swear this happens to me all of the time. The slowest-moving people–the gimpy, the elderly, the crippled–they all suddenly decide they have somewhere to be as soon as I’m about to pass them. A man who’s been wheelchair-bound for fifty-three years will without warning gain feeling in his legs the moment he sees the whites of my eyes simply to block me from walking by him. It’s incredible.

So I’m slugging along behind ol’ Droopy Boobies, thinking that I don’t really have anywhere to be and won’t bother her to move aside for me, when she starts talking to this guy ahead of her on the sidewalk. He’s perched on one of the low fences that surrounds all of the trees in Kamran’s well-manicured neighborhood, tapping something on his cellphone. He’s fit and in his late 30s, dressed in a clean t-shirt and jeans, with nicely styled hair that’s tossing in the breeze. I figure they must know each other.

Until I hear that the old hag is saying to him, “These goddamned illegal aliens. They move here and steal our jobs and then sit around on their fat asses talking on their phones all day.”

I’m . . . surprised. This man is very much white, very not fat, and entirely American-looking. And it’s nearly 6:30 p.m., so I’m not exactly sure why she’s upset about him not working. Although I suppose that when your life revolves entirely around the administering of your daily suppository, you lose track of time.

Just as she steps beside him, she says, “Illegal aliens think they can sit on their fat asses and we won’t notice,” but he doesn’t even look up. I take that moment to pass by her and hold my BlackBerry–which I happen to have in my hand, because I’m obsessed with it–up in the air so she can see it and press a bunch of buttons to spite her.

I’m walking fast enough to be a few feet in front of her at this point, so she hollers, “Fatass!”

Where the Streets Have My Name

Posted by plumpdumpling on August 11, 2009 – 9:01 am
Filed under bigtime celebrity, narcissism
Tagged as , ,

I pass these barriers every day after work on my way to Kamran’s apartment, and I never could figure out why they creeped me out until I realized the other day that

ONE OF THEM IS CALLING MY NAME. Albeit backward.

A Bus Stop Ditcher Gets His Due

Posted by plumpdumpling on August 4, 2009 – 9:50 am
Filed under funner times on the bus, living in new york sucks so hard, my uber-confrontational personality
Tagged as , , ,

On Saturday evening, Kamran and I reached the M15 stop at 42nd Street to see we’d just missed the bus. As we were the only ones at the stop, we entertained ourselves with rhyming games and musings about what sort of present we could buy at a convenience store to bring to the Williamsburg birthday party we were on our way to.

After a few minutes, a woman with a very stylish short haircut made her way down the street and politely stood a few feet away from us to wait. An older gentlemen in a pink button-down dress shirt and an orange tie came and stood beside her a few minutes later. A couple of grannies rolled up together a second later and pretended to be looking at the map on the bus stop pole, but it was pretty clear they were just trying to ditch us to be first into the bus, so Kamran told me to be wary of getting hit over the head with a purse or walking cane when the bus pulled up.

We all spotted the bus as it popped over the hill at 43rd Street at the same time, and the unease in the air was palpable as we all prepared ourselves for the inevitable chaos of boarding. Usually I appreciate it when the bus driver doesn’t pull all of the way up to the pole that marks the stop, because the people standing there are rarely the ones who have been waiting the longest, but this driver didn’t pull up far enough.

He stopped right in the middle of the crowd, leaving us to separate ourselves into two groups on either side of the door. On the left side was the nicely-haircutted woman, the old man in pink and orange, and this other man who had appeared out of nowhere in rolled-up jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt. On the right was the potentially-lethal pair of ladies, Kamran, and me.

Haircut went into the bus first, which was, you know, incorrect but acceptable, considering that she arrived shortly after we did and perhaps didn’t remember who was there first. I took a step forward to make it clear that I was next, and I know Sleeveless T-Shirt saw me, because he stepped forward after I did and then looked at me for my next move

My next move, of course, was to step onto the bus. Apparently he wasn’t pleased with this checkmate, though, because he took advantage of the extra-wide doorway and clambered onto the bus right beside me. I was totally weirded out. I mean, I may curse about people who hurry past me into the bus during rush hour, but this was 8 p.m. on a weekend. And it was a double-long bus, so there was no chance there wasn’t going to be room for him. Plus, I was there first.

I didn’t even have a chance to think about what to do. What came naturally was to shove all 145 pounds of him back out of the bus, all the while saying, “Oh, excuse me! Oh, pardon me!” in my sweetest voice. The adrenaline rush was insane.

But as fun as that was, the greatest part of the situation was that the guy then turned to Kamran, evidently unaware that we were together. (Or aware and unafraid.) He made a face of incredulity and yammered something unintelligible that was clearly meant to convey how much he wanted me dead. Kamran, of course, didn’t sock him in the jaw as he should have, but he did politely remind him to mind the other people in line first next time.

(also posted on Examiner)

You’re Only as Badass as How Far You’re Willing to Get Out of Your Car

Posted by plumpdumpling on July 9, 2009 – 10:06 am
Filed under living in new york sucks so hard
Tagged as ,

I was coming out of Grand Central the other afternoon on my way to Kamran’s apartment, crossing to the south side of 42nd Street, when I noticed a businessman on a bike yelling at the cab driver behind him. They were stopped at the red light, and the bike rider was turned around, one foot on a pedal and one foot on the ground, yelling over and over, “Get out of the car!” He had his suit pants rolled up to expose his dress socks pulled to mid-calf and his leather briefcase strapped to his back. The cab driver was leaned back in his seat, hands gripping the wheel, yelling out his open window, but I couldn’t understand him. A driver in a car to their right leaned out his window, looking confused. Everyone on the street watched them, waiting to see what would happen when the light turned green.

I stopped at the corner to wait, and as expected, when the cars around him started moving, the guy on the bike just stood still, foot still planted firmly, looking smug. After maybe five seconds of this, the door of the cab behind the bike rider flung open, and a blonde girl about my age leaned out and yelled, “If you don’t move, I’LL MAKE YOU!” But then, you know, she sat back down and closed the door. Evidently feeling as if he’d proven his point and knowing that plowing over bikers is an everyday occurrence for cabbies, the biker started moving, weaving in and out of cars as he made his way leisurely across town.

And that’s why I ride public transportation.

(also posted to Examiner)

It’s Best to Claim Your Bodily Functions

Posted by plumpdumpling on June 18, 2009 – 1:10 pm
Filed under good times at everyone else's expense, my uber-confrontational personality, why i'm better than everyone else
Tagged as , , ,

Nearly every single restaurant in NYC delivers for free, which means that on Saturdays and Sundays, Dr. Boyfriend and I pretty much refuse to leave his apartment and secretly have disdain for friends who attempt to coax us out. So last weekend, we were heading downstairs to pick up our delivered Thai food in his building’s lobby when the elevator stopped at a lower floor. Just as the doors opened, the young Asian man waiting outside let out a very audible burp.

He didn’t excuse himself or anything, so I said, “We heard that!” Because, you know, it’s not like I could pretend it didn’t happen. He just continued to stare at the door and didn’t acknowledge me in any way.

When he rushed out at the ground floor, Kamran held me back for a moment and asked me incredulously, “How could you embarrass me like that?!” I was shocked. Embarrass him? He wasn’t the one to hardcore burp and then just casually slip into the elevator like the reeking fumes of his body gas weren’t surrounding us all.

I thought that acknowledging the burp would actually lighten the mood. When someone calls you out on something, it gives you a chance to turn the joke back around on yourself, right? And it’s not like we caught him raping a cat or something here. It was a burp!

So who’s right here–Kamran or me?

Gimme Some Money

Posted by plumpdumpling on April 1, 2009 – 10:32 am
Filed under living in new york sucks so hard
Tagged as ,

It’s a funny thing, being an intensely poor lady who spends all of her time in her boyfriend’s richie-rich, circa-1920, hand-carved Italian stone apartment building with its own gym, laundry, and convenience store. Walking out of the lobby this morning, I followed through the revolving doors an older, classier woman with a Blanc de Chine shopping bag. And not, like, the paper bag they give you at DKNY or even the vinyl bag they give you at Scoop but a legitimate canvas bag that can be treasured and flaunted for years and years to come.

Now, that name wouldn’t have meant anything to me a few years ago, but you may remember back in 2007, when I hardcore coveted this Blanc de Chine cape that cost over $1600:

but instead bought this cape, which cost me $9:

I’m telling myself there’s no way that woman bought anything but a pair of cashmere socks, but I don’t think they hand out canvas bags for that.

Hugs, Blood, Death, and Rockstars of the String

Posted by plumpdumpling on December 10, 2008 – 11:11 am
Filed under fun times on the subway, living in new york is neat
Tagged as , , , , ,

As I stepped out of Kamran’s apartment building yesterday morning and passed the park that lines his walk, I saw a woman coming out with a baby strapped to her front in one of those canvas harnesses. The idea of being hauled around in one of those has always appealed to me, but this one actually made me straight-up jealous: the baby was wearing a fuzzy brown fleece one-piece suit with bear ears on its hood. And his arms were wrapped around his mother’s stomach, his head pressed to her warm belly as she hugged him in the cold. It looked like the coziest, lovingest thing ever.

Then, when I got down into Grand Central, there was a scantily-clad man–I’m talking wifebeater made into a half-shirt here–playing some really sexy music on an electric violin. “Sexy music coming from an electric violin, the inherently lamest instrument ever?” you might ask. But yes, it totally was. And it was only made sexier by the fact that he had his eyes closed and his head thrown back, clearly enjoying what he was doing. Which made me smile so much that I had to turn away. Nice start to my day, right?

But THEN, I was getting off the 4 train at Bowling Green before work, and as I was waiting in the huge line that forms before the staircase leading up to the street, this Italian-looking guy in his 30s came stumbling through the crowd with BLOOD FLOWING DOWN HIS FACE. He was like, “Excuse me, please,” and politely made his way down the stairs while all of us stood and stared, and then he hopped into the train as if everything was fine.

And THEN, I was on my way to get my hair cut last night when I heard a woman telling the booth attendant at the 8th Street R stop about a man on the staircase. I assumed she was complaining about a disruptive homeless fellow, but when I got to the stairs myself, I saw nothing but a very well-dressed older guy who happened to be holding up the line to the street by taking a loooooooooooooong time on each stair and intermittently slumping toward the wall as if he was having trouble standing. Turns out he was having a HEART ATTACK right there in front of me. But naturally I continued on, selfish and vain as always.

NEW YORK!

Restaurant Week Summer 2008 Restaurant Review: Dos Caminos

Posted by plumpdumpling on July 22, 2008 – 4:10 pm
Filed under living in new york is neat, restaurant ramblings
Tagged as , ,

Last night, Boyfriend Kamran and I were indecisive about where to go for dinner as usual, and it was annoying me to the point that I just wanted to forget the whole thing and eat spaghetti on his couch. When our bus from his work neared the Dos Caminos on 3rd Ave., though, he asked if I felt like stopping there. Of course I did; I suggested it for dinner sometime last week and was still craving it, but I’d already mentioned another Mexican place, and he hadn’t jumped at the chance, so I figured he wasn’t in the mood for salsa. But at the last minute, he said, “Let’s go!”, and it turned out to be THE BEST DECISION EVER.

We’re masochists, so we requested a table on the patio, where the jalapeños could be sure to push our internal juices from tepid to boiling. The host led us along the side of the restaurant and seated us at the greatest booth–facing the street and all the other patrons for our voyeuristic pleasure–with burnt orange cushions to sit on and pillows to lounge with. We settled in, he handed us our menus, and we discovered that it’s the start of Restaurant Week Summer 2008! It’s the two weeks each season where all of the restaurants that usually charge $35+ just for their entrees charge $35 altogether for an appetizer, an entree, and a dessert. It’s great for people like me who aren’t quite sure they’re ready to spend an entire paycheck for some almond-crusted mahi mahi that they may end up hating and a great way to find out if that chef everyone exclaims about is really any better than the guy microwaving the chicken fingers in the kitchen of your local Applebee’s.

We should’ve known, of course, because we spent an entire day at the beginning of the month choosing our restaurants, but our first reservation isn’t until Friday. And we would’ve never chosen this particular place, because it’s somewhere we can go any time, but the Dos Caminos Restaurant Week menu blew me away.

To start, Kamran ordered the Tomatillo, Pineapple, & Mint Gazpacho with spanish chorizo and pickled cucumber, which was cool and refreshing with the sweetest cucumber and little chunks of chorizo that looked like cat treats but tasted smoky and spicy and had the pleasantest chew to them. He had chosen the soup over the pork flautas simply because it looked more interesting, and we’re positive it was the right choice.

I, of course, went with the Croquetas de Queso, which the menu described as “crispy potato croquettes stuffed with cotija cheese” and Kamran described as “gourmet mozzarella sticks”. The cheese and potato oozed from their sides, the orangey-red romesco salsa was a totally new taste for me, and the greens in the center of the plate created a compliment that I didn’t know was possible as far as lettuce goes.

Kamran chose the Hanger Steak Tampiquena (grilled hanger steak, mole negro enchilada, black beans, avocado) for his entree and was really impressed. He’d ordered a steak once before at Dos Caminos and hadn’t cared for it, so I’d dissuaded him from the hanger, but I’m glad he ignored me, because this thing was fla-vor-FUL. The corn tortillas were brimming with cheese and smothered in mole, and the beans were, you know, bean-y and in a big bowl on the side.

My dish was even more phenomenal. It’s like this thing was meant for me, made with all of my favourites: chorizo-stuffed chicken breast, pickled golden raisins, toasted almond rice, and mole de xico. Bliss, bliss, and heaven!

I know I’m supposed to be embarrassed to be a chicken fanatic, but this chicken dish was THE BEST. The poultry was crispy on the outside and moist on the inside, the chorizo wasn’t overpoweringly spicy, and the almond rice was fantastic on its own but even better when mixed with the mole. Just LOOK at it!

Kamran had originally decided on the Mexican Chocolate & Cherry Semifreddo with fresh bing cherry salsita, and I on the Pastel de Elote with mango-blackberry salsita and sweet corn ice cream (because I’m a corn ice cream freak), but when it came time to order, I just went with the first one on the list–the chocolate–to make it easier. We decided to split them 50-50, but when they arrived and we tasted our own and then each other’s, we found that we’d each ended up with the right dessert for us.

The corn ice cream was surprisingly too intense for me (and almost nothing is too intense for me); the chocolate was too bitter for Kamran (even though it wasn’t actually bitter at all and tasted awesome to me). He described his as “corncake with corn ice cream”, and if the cake was a bit dry for my liking, the the little bits of syrupy mango here and there made up for it. The most interesting thing about it was that the ice cream was bordering savory; corn ice creams I’ve had in the past have always been balanced by either a whole lotta sugar or some sort of berry swirled in, but this was straight up CORN-flavored. It was strange and delicious, and like I said, really intense.

Kamran described my dessert as “gross sour chocolate mousse”, but when I called him on it, he said, “Okay, I acknowledge that I am a neophyte when it comes to serious chocolate. I am to chocolate as you are to everything but chocolate.” OUCH! But he’s right–I’m serious about chocolate. I can take it super-dark or I can take it milky light, and the pointed curved piece on my plate was dark with a hint of fruit. The mousse was creamy at first, but when I started working toward the middle of the mound, it became colder and almost frozen; I found out why when I got to the center and found a surprise frozen cherry.

I can’t say enough about how much I enjoyed the meal, especially when I’ve considered the restaurant only good and not exceptional in the past. It was the most pleasant start to Restaurant Week I can imagine, and now I’m even more pumped for our other ventures.