Armed Only with Garlic-Breath and a Bad Attitude

It's the hap-happiest time of the year.

I know everyone is angry about ramps again this year. Last year we were mad because everyone makes such a big deal out of them. This year we're mad because we're like, diminishing our biodiversity, man. With all due respect, I love you all very much, but please shut up and just let me eat my onions.


Here's Where it Gets Weird

So far, I've been going easy on you guys. I've tried to pick things that are mostly accessible to our palates and our times. Here's where it gets weird.

We've arrived at the the texture my Sidekick dreads the most: JELLY.


Tomorrow Will Be Better

Okay, guys, here's the deal. Tomorrow, it will be spring again and I want you to be prepared.

Although right now it appears that New York City will be swallowed up by clouds and carried away, you might have a shot of actually eating something outside tomorrow. If you do, maybe you should eat one of these things.


Dear Tastebuds: Duck and Cover

Just so we're all clear, I can be a bit of a braggart. I love to proclaim loudly to whoever will listen that I grew up eating just about anything that was placed in front of me. This is mostly true. But there have been a few hold-outs in my life. It took me a fairly solid two decades to appreciate a runny yolk, a tuna fish sandwich, and now, the star of today's show: anchovies.

I have ALWAYS wanted to like anchovies. When, as they will in any reputable establishment, a server asked if I'd like anchovies in my Caesar salad, I'd always boldly say yes. And, without fail, I'd end up pushing the leathery little monsters around my plate like refugees. Fishy is still a flavor profile that I'm working on having the utmost enthusiasm for. Let's just say that Anchovy Canapes I made me feel particularly enthusiastic.


Are We All Tired of Toast Points Yet?

I'll admit, I am. I'm a little tired of toast. This toast in particular combines a lot of things I love: olives, melty cheese, broilers. But, I was a little less than moved by it, to be honest. Is it perhaps too reminiscent of the cream cheese and olive sandwiches an enthusiastic grandmother tried to get me to eat in my youth? Yes, perhaps. Were they also served alongside the aforementioned bacon and cheese revelations? Yes. Sadly for Olive and Cheese Canapes I, they were.

No hard feelings, guys. Thanks for coming to the party.



A few weekends ago, the wind took us up to Williamsburg, landed us at Dram for a few cocktails, then on to Pies n' Thighs for a hedonistic bloodbath of fried chicken consumption. At Dram (which is a delight in a sea of overpriced, over-styled, overblown meat markets) my Sidekick ordered a bartender's choice with Rye, spirit-forward, as he is wont to do. The lovely, capable, tattooed girl behind the bar brought him Archibald's Last Memory. It was so delicious and so unlike anything we're currently drinking that my wonderful, obsessive Sidekick purchased each ingredient and went to work re-creating it. Filmed by McPickles, performance and editing by Fred Swayze. Please to enjoy.

Buyer beware: one of these will make you feel drunk.


An Open Letter to New York City

Dear New York City,

Hello. I hope this letter finds you well. I'll be direct, because I know you're busy: we get it. It's fucking hard to live in you sometimes. But please, for the sake of the sanity of all of us, warm. UP.

The problem is that you gave us one glorious weekend of sunshine and spring temperatures and then took it away. This, above all things, really, really hurt our feelings. It's lucky for you there is an indoor farmer's market near to me on Sundays. Otherwise, I might go crazy and start threatening to move to the south. For now, I'll occupy myself by roasting pork. But, this is a mere diversion, so please get your shit together. XOXO: Rebecca.

Now, about that pork.