the weekend

Summer is a hard time to try and figure things out. All I wanna do is eat snacks and play with dogs instead of thinking about how I need to fix my apartment so I can get my stupid security deposit back or how I really need/want to get some kind of art job or how I should really redeem my Groupon for kickboxing classes. You know, all those "real life" concerns that your parents won't stop bothering you about because they're right and you really should be thinking about them but it's so sunny and warm and you're an adult and you know what you're doing so stop worrying. Except I don't always know and it freaks me out sometimes, but the good thing about being young and stupid is that I can put off all that serious stuff for grayer, colder days. I'll figure it out soon enough. 

So that's what I did. Played with a puppy and ate til I couldn't eat any more. But now it's Tuesday and the weekend is over, so I guess it's time to get real.

 Classic Banh Mi from Hanco's in Park Slope

I think this Hanco's is better than the one in Cobble Hill. There were too many carrots and not enough daikon, which made it a little sweeter than I would like. But I guess that'll teach me to eat Vietnamese food anywhere else besides the restaurant I work at. You know what they say about karma.

 A pepperoni pizza on the roof of my future apartment

Chicken Club at Mega Bites

 This is the reason why I never like the chicken-filled version of things--chicken tacos, chicken sandwiches, chicken burgers. The chicken is always too big, dry and flavorless and not even a good slick of mayonaise is going to save it. I took out most of the chicken ended up eating a mayonaise heavy, triple stacked BLT, which was totally fine by me, but next time I'll just order a BLT instead.

Vanilla soft serve and rainbow sprinkles

I don't like Tasti Delite and I'm usually never ever tempted to get any. Especially not with sprinkles. But I was on the Upper West Side walking around with Joe and Paul's puppy and there were all these maxi-dress mothers and fat polo shirt babies and fluffly dogs outside and it was so gross and cute at the same time, and I really just NEEDED that ice cream cone to make everything more picturesque. Plus, it was free sprinkles day and I like free stuff. It was really nice for the first two minutes, but after I ate the layer with the sprinkles, I felt kinda sick and threw the rest away into a clean trashcan on a clean street. The UWS is so weird.

some vegetables, but mostly meat

Last week marked two years in New York for me. I know, I know that's still baby status for all you ~real~ New Yorkers out there, but it felt big because I swore to myself before I moved that I would be out in two years. But I'm still here! I guess I stayed for the food. 

Here's what I ate this past week:

A crunchy salad with lime, mint, feta and sunflower seeds for a really rainy day.  I got the recipe from Smitten Kitchen, and for once, I think my food actually looked just as nice as hers. 

Then the rain stopped, so Thanh and I went to Samurai Mama, which is one of the worst restaurant names I have ever heard. I'm actually totally against any restaurants with the word "mama" in it. It bothers me almost as much as when grown ass adults use the word "sammich" instead of "sandwich." Now you know one of my pet peeves. Or two? One and a half.

But...Samurai Mama serves some really serious food so I can't be mad. Like this melty, silky pork belly and zucchini. I wish it came with rice so I could've pour the fatty broth all over it.

"Tuna Tacos"

Good but I wouldn't order it again

Ahhh!!! Bukkake Udon

The most perfectly springy and silky udon noodles ever topped with scallions, seaweed, and two unidentifiable piles of vegetables. On the right is a side of mushrooms and my broth, both of which got dumped on to the noodles. On the left, is a very soft poached egg that was supposed to be stirred into the noodles, but I liked dunking the noodles into the yolk more. I guess the idea is like Japanese carbonara, sort of. It's good, light summer food.

Then there was some more rain, which again, turned into another sunny day and left me wanting barbeque. The weather here is being really Pacific Northwest.

So Melissa and I went to Fette Sau. As usual, we got more food than we could eat, but having too much food is better than having too little. That's why me and Mel are friends. Starting from the half-sour pickles (which I've grown to like) and going clockwise--squishy rolls, pork belly, more rolls, spicy sausage, beef brisket, a short rib, and a too-large order of German potato salad. 

I would end this with "Summer's here!" but it's raining really really hard again. So I guess we'll see about that.

risotto cakes

I went back to Mukilteo last week. It was just for a hot minute though. My parents and I drove down the Oregon coast, ate lots of seafood, saw lots of nature, you know...Pacific Northwest stuff.  I actually didn't do any driving, mostly just stretched out and ate puff Cheetos and pepperoni sticks in the back seat. Somethings never change. 

I also kind of forgot that I had a food blog, which is a little sad and weird, but then I remembered I have lots of food to share from my trip. Kinda sucks that you can't actually eat any of it, huh?

 

This is just a little peek--risotto cakes and poached eggs, with roasted butternut squash and potatoes. The vegetables were alright, the poached eggs were a teeny bit overcooked, but the risotto cakes were perfect. But how could they not be? What a good idea. 

pizza, burger, mom

I'm always overwhelmed with my mom's unconditional love. I just don't get how moms develop that much selflessness when it comes to their children. I like to think that I'm a pretty nice, caring person, but I just don't think I'll ever understand the level of niceness moms are on. Like when I was a kid--I could never finish a whole McDonald's hamburger, but my mom would still take me there and waste her money on half-eaten meals every time I asked. Then when I finished a whole burger for the first time, she was actually proud of me. This would be a good time to note that I am an only child. Small victories, I guess.

 

Roberta's: cheeseburger on a house-made bun and fingerling potatoes

 

best burger ever

She used to pick me up from school every day with a lunch packed so I could eat before going to the piano lessons that I begged for, but eventually abandoned ten years later because the only thing I had really learned was how to play "chopsticks." Also, it wasn't just a PB&J type lunch, it was serious multi-layered lunch box filled with Korean food--fried rice, rice cakes, noodles--plus a million side dishes that I liked. And obviously, I only ate the kind of side dishes that took a lot of time to make. Even after all that, I would ask for a calzone at Pizza Hut, and she would take me to get one. I'd make her order it because I was way too chicken to order my own food until I was about 13.  I was so so spoiled, and I think that must partially be why I love food so much. 

 

Speedy Romeo: "The White Album"

 

a pocket of ricotta

pickled peppers to tame the dairy-ness of the white pie

I used to be really really tiny and in desperate need of fattening, so my mom let me eat whatever I want. And since I would get hungry every two hours like a bird, she would make me anything I wanted to eat at any hour of the day--like tuna fish sandwiches and cheetos at 6 am. This is probably the least sentimental, least beautiful way to describe how much I appreciate the love my mom has shown me, but it's what sticks with me the most. Even now, whenever I come home, my mom treats me the same way.  I've definitely woken her up to say that I wanted instant ramen, and she's made it for me with a side of kimchi and an egg plopped into the broth. Even after reaching the pinnacle of laziness--asking your sleeping mother to wake up and rehydrate noodles for you--I know my mom still loves me enough to do that a million times over if I asked. So when it comes to food, I approach it in the only way that I know how--with lots and lots of love and a stupidly, endless appetite.

So what I'm trying to say...all this food I ate, it was all for you, Mom!! Happy Mother's Day!

Just joking. That would be the worst gift ever.

brunch, three ways

Crispy Kale & Avocado Sandwich crispy kale and avocado sandwich with piquillo pepper, currant and marcona almond relish. From Tandem Bar

I never really understood what people meant when they would proclaim their love for brunch. I mean, lunch is my preferred meal, but I've never thought, "Omg, I love lunch so much!" because that's weird. It doesn't make any sense. I'm still not sure that I even get what brunch is. I used to think it just meant extending acceptable breakfast hours, then I thought it was just a weekend word for breakfast. But once I moved to New York, I noticed that all these restaurants and bars have special brunch menus, although that often seems to just involve adding an egg and a side of home fries to the regular menu items. I'm still confused about the concept of brunch as it's own meal category, but now that it's been almost 2 years of living in Brooklyn, which is like, brunch headquarters, I'm starting to get it. 

I like brunch because anything goes--you can eat pancakes at 2 pm, put an egg on a hamburger and call it breakfast, add champagne to your orange juice--and nobody's gonna judge. It can be really tiring always trying to do what other people want and expect from you, and I think that's why people like brunch--it's a nice respite from a week spent trying to appease others, whether it's your friends or your boss or hungry customers. Going out to brunch is like re-claiming all those moments you had swallow that annoying lump in your throat, force a smile and say "Okay! Sure, whatever you want."  It's your turn to indulge yourself and do whatever makes you happy without worrying about anybody else. As my pal Nina would say, "You do you."

I ran out of things to say about brunch before I could transition into these photos, so I'm just going to stick them in here. Lazy, I know.

My sandwich at Tandem came with a choice of two sides. I chose patatas bravas and a side of grits because if that's an option, I always want it. I think Tandem named the potatoes "patatas bravas" just because it sounds nicer than "home fries" or "fried potatoes." And I'm pretty sure patatas bravas are supposed to come drizzled with mayonaise, and these did not. It's like when restaurants use "mayonnaise" and "aioli" interchangeably because aioli sounds fancy. Anyway, I'm not really complaining though because those were some seriously good potatoes. I swear they were fried in bacon fat--a nice hint of porkiness to my vegetable sandwich. The sandwich, by the way, was the most delicious vegetable sandwich I have ever had. And that's saying something because to me, a sandwich without cheese is hardly a sandwich at all. 

"Turkish Breakfast" from Olea: Eggs scrambled with cilantro, tomato and red onion, fattoush, eggplant salad, herbed yogurt and grilled pita bread. But as you can see, the pita bread was not grilled. I didn't care though.

Patty melt and fries from Mega Bites, which is a really strange name for a diner. I had never been there before, but my roommate loves diners, so I knew I'd end up there eventually. The only bad thing about my meal here was that I realized how close it is to my apartment next year. I know that sounds like a good thing, but I foresee way too many meals taking place at Mega Bites. I've never been one to exercise much control when it comes to my food cravings.

I hardly ever get patty melts, but this one made me wonder if I should make that a regular thing. The buttery sandwich bread really puts it over the edge. The fries were perfect--well seasoned, crispy on the outside, warm and soft on the inside. I kept eating them long after I had started feeling uncomfortably full. I guess that's what they mean by Mega Bites?

carbs and cheese

Ah, carbs and cheese. My two favorite things in the world. Is there a more perfect pairing? Besides David Bowie and Iman.

This is the product of the only food I have in my apartment (really, the only food that wasn't molding): anchovies, onions, and pecorino romano. 

Ricotta and honey grilled cheese from Saxelby's in the Essex Street Market.

Pawlie Grilled Cheese, also from Saxelby's. Made with Pawlet cheese (from a farm in Vermont) and spicy Rick's Picks pickles. Spicy and tangy always pairs well with something heavy, like buttery bread and gooey, nutty cheese. But I've known that since I was in elementary school and loved eating my mac and cheese with cut up pickles. I'm not trying to take credit for this sandwich or anything, but you know, JUST SAYIN'...my 6 year old palate must have been seriously advanced. 

Di Fara: Pizza Dreams Come True

I don't know when I started loving pizza, but there's not really much of a pizza culture in Seattle, and I think the best pizza I ate before I left for college was probably Pizza Hut's stuffed crust pizza. Then when I moved to the East Coast and realized that you could get pizza by the slice, my relationship with pizza totally changed. It went from being a once-in-a-while treat to something that I could eat all the time. Pizza and I have been pretty inseparable since. When I lived in Rome, I ate amazingly delicious pizza every day for breakfast and lunch, and by the time I moved to New York, I was a goner. Pizza was every where all the time. The thing is, all these different pizza experiences haven't made me like one kind of pizza more than another--good pizza, bad pizza, cold pizza, Neapolitan pizza, Sicilian pizza, fast food pizza, pizza bagels...I love it all. It's that unbeatable combination of bread and cheese, and even when it's bad, it's good. You just can't lose. 

But then I went to Di Fara's Pizza for the first time. And while I don't think it was the BEST pizza, I can safely say that it was my favorite pizza that I've ever had.

Ever.

Maybe it was the puddles of oozing, gooey, milky buffalo mozzarella. Or that greasy drippiness the extra pour of olive oil creates. Or perhaps the way that the tangy-sweetness of the tomato sauce plays so well with the bunches of fresh, fragrant basil. Oh, or maybe it's that crispy, chewy, black and bubbly crust. And the generous extra sprinkling of Parmesan cheese, too.

But all of that aside, what I really think makes Di Fara's pizza special is watching Dom Demarco make each and every pizza himself. It's a slow (and almost painful, depending on how hungry you are) process to watch, but it's totally mesmerizing. He makes each pizza as if there isn't a hoard of hungry customers crowding around the counter, as if it's the only one he's going to make all day. Lots of love and care, I think. After 40 minutes of watching him stretch the dough, grate the cheese, and pooouuuur the olive oil, I knew I'd eating more than just a pizza--I'd be eating 40+ years of this guy's pride and hard work, a little piece of Brooklyn's history, the magical art of pizza making, and a lot of anxious anticipation and excitement.

Look at this guy. Just going for the pizza with his bare hands.

Pizza preview!

Seriously. Bare hands, hot pizza. What a guy. If this grosses you out, go away. 

I can't even remember if this was our pizza or someone else's. I just know that with every pie that hit the counter, everyone would descend on it like vultures, hoping it was theirs. It's funny how calm the pizza-making area is compared to the chaos of the rest of the restaurant. If you can even call it that. It's small in there. I consider it nothing short of a pizza miracle that 9 of us all managed to get tables and three pizzas in under an hour. 

There he goes pouring some more olive oil at the bottom of the square pizza pan.

And there's the square pizza in all of its charred, gooey, oily glory. 

 I went for one of the coveted corner slices. After the first piece, the Sicilian slice was the winner in my book. The crust was hefty yet airy, and it soaked up most of the oil instead of letting it slosh around on top of the cheese. But by slice 2.5, I thought maybe I liked the regular slice a little more. I'm not complaining about the oiliness, but there is a lot of it. And on the regular slice, it kind of drips off and you can either try to slurp it up, or let it spill all over your plate. With the square slice, you have no choice but to consume it, and once you've had a few slices too many, it really starts to hurt.

 

If I didn't know what it felt like to be waiting with baited breath for a pizza and a table, I might have stayed at Di Fara's a little longer. Let the pizza sink in, digest, close my eyes. But I know how hard it is to stand there, watching everyone chow down in pizza ecstasy, hoping that this next pizza that Dom is making so slowly will finally be yours. I honestly don't quite remember how we got home. It was a long, drowsy train ride, but one that was totally worth it. I think that all the effort that goes into getting to Di Fara and then having to wait for it, makes it that much more enjoyable and memorable. Besides, it was Danni's last night in Brooklyn, and I hadn't seen her in THREE YEARS. There really couldn't have been a better way to end her visit.

Except like this. (Mom, if you're reading this, which you probably aren't, don't be mad at me!!!)