An Extremely Upsetting Lunch Decision

Guys. My tastebuds. Are so upset with me. I am upset with me. And I am upset with Daisy May's BBQ Cart.

Looking at the above, I can't see much wrong. This is a Daisy May's Bowl of Texas Red. This thing is fabled as a fantastic winter-warmer-upper, in the classic "bowl of red style" that I grew up to love. That means, no beans, just straight up red chile sauce with chunks of pork, or in this case, beef.

The good: The meat is abundant and tender, big lovely chunks of beef. There are flecks of REAL red chile swimming in the thick, murky, sauce. Also, they give you shredded cheddar, sour cream, chopped onions and a fairly decent tortilla.

The bad and the ugly: It tastes as if the cook behind it, slightly hungover from a party the night before, accidentally mistook sugar for salt and dumped in eight or ten handfulls. Then, recognizing his mistake, added an equal amount of salt to compensate. The result, I'm extremely sorry to say, was inedible. And now I'm out $8.00.

Has anyone else eaten this before? I want this to be a fluke so desperately. A good bowl of red is SO hard to find, but I couldn't trudge farther than four bites in.

Stomach Trumps Brain: An Adventure to Cafe Edison

Let me start by saying this: Cafe Edison is a lot closer to Time Square than I like to get. Go ahead and accuse me of being a curmudgeon, it won't phase me. I hate it here for so many reasons. I hate the walking arterial clog of Midwestern tour groups. I hate the neon Olive Garden sign that is the size of 11 of me. I hate that restaurants there have to do things like this:

And most of all? I hate, HATE that TGI Friday's.

Ok. Now that that's out of the way, let's talk about some things I like. Something really special happened yesterday. On my misguided walk down Broadway from 54th to 47th, as I weaved in and out of clumps of clueless, slack-jawed visitors, I passed no less than 20 flyer hander-outers, tour bus guides and other people who try to get you to buy stuff off the street. The special part? None of them said a word to me. This means that my gait has finally become that of someone who doesn't need to be sold any crap in Times Square. This means that I have discovered the body-language phrase, "Leave me the hell alone." I feel like I've passed a test. I like this.

Here's something else I like:



After finally arriving and settling down inside Cafe Edison's dingy, Art Deco dining room, this matzoh ball soup came to me no more than 45 seconds after I ordered it. I know this looks like a bowl. To normal people this is a bowl. At Cafe Edison, this is a cup. Now, no one's matzoh ball soup will ever beat my Grandma Glenda's, but this is a pretty decent approximation. The actual matzoh ball has no business being both as enormous as it is and as fluffy and tender as it is at the same time. The chicken pieces are substantial, juicy and taste like they've been simmered for hours. I don't love noodles in my matzoh ball soup, but it's an offense I'm willing to forgive for $3.50.

Next came the sandwich:



I think it's clear that I have a pickle abuse problem, so right off the bat I'm pleased by this plate. The requisite midtown diner cole slaw, which I tend to ignore, actually got me to take another bite. And another. And another. The corned beef, while a little on the dry side, is homemade. Hear that? Home. Made. The rye bread is soft, with a little crunch on the crust.

Munching away on the kind of food that is increasingly more difficult to find in New York, I started to forget my initial panic attack as I neared the bright lights of Disney Square. I noticed the tables of elderly Jewish couples being served regular orders without menus (How do I know they were Jewish? I just know. How do you know when it's about to rain?). I even noticed, with decidedly less malice than usual, the one large table of six or seven very large out of town visitors. Having a particular shape and size only achieved by driving a car everywhere you go and not being able to go outside in the winter, they perused Broadway playbills, subway maps and bus tour programs. I found, at this moment, not disdain for these people, but pride, because if they managed to stumble just slightly off the beaten path into the Cafe Edison, they were at least doing one thing right.


Cafe Edison
228 W 47th St
New York, NY 10036
(212) 840-5000
(Cash Only)

Spring Mid-Terms (or How Baked Ziti with Meatballs Saved My Life)

This is my first year in New York.

Many view their first year in New York as a test. For me, it's Spring Mid-Term season. Well, if you can call this Spring. I would call it 'Second Winter', but I'm a desert kid.

For those of you not perched on our spectacular little island (archipelago?), let me let you in on a little secret: it has rained for six days straight. I've been told not to complain about the weather in New York. I've been reminded by benevolent forces that what I'm noticing is that New York actually HAS weather, unlike the sometimes subtly dampened climate of my youth. So, I'm learning to actually use an umbrella. And to recognize hot pink Wellies as a legitimate fashion decision.

Despite all of these positive steps in the right direction, sometimes, when you work in Midtown and have to wear fancy clothes no matter what the weather outside is like, you need a little extra help staying positive. Here's where Papa Perrone comes in.

Folks, I give you... LUNCH.



I apologize for the quality of this photo (aren't blurry photos what food blogs are all about?), but I had to take it with my phone, quickly, before I shoved the rest of it down my gullet.

This hulking behemoth of a lunch plate, baked ziti with homemade meatballs, tops out at $8.50. In a neighborhood where you can hardly get a cup of soup for under $10, Papa Perrone is truly a hero. He parks his large, extremely well-equipped food truck right around the corner from my office, on 55th between Madison and Park.

Guys, take another look at this, I'm not kidding:



Some people turn their noses up at food from carts/trucks. Stupid people. Who hate their taste buds and love to waste money. Papa Perrone's truck has a longer line trailing from it every time I go, with good reason.

Don't get me wrong, I'll eat a sandwich from Pret on an off-day as well, but there's no way it could ever compare to lunch from this man, for a few reasons: This man is about taste, generosity, an un-flinching love of perfect marinara and a general air of good-naturedness every time I see him. Also, he will put anything on garlic bread.

Sometimes, when it's really miserable outside, it's so nice to know that there's someone out there who loves your stomach as much as it needs to be loved. That someone is Papa Perrone.



Papa Perrone's
55th btw Madison & Park
917-880-1432
www.papaperrone.com