It's funny to me that New York City seems to have a universal and symbolic appeal, while people have their own very individual experiences are relationship with the city. How can one place be summed up with all of the vastly different neighborhoods, cultures and landmarks? Having a "New York State of Mind" could mean everything from dreaming about Broadway to listening to a hipster rap group on the Lower East Side to stroller-pushing in Park Slope. And more. Oh, so much more.
I lived in Manhattan for the better part of four years while I studied at NYU. Of course, I had a preconceived notion of what life in the city would be like, and it is an understatement to say I was enthusiastically planning a lifelong love affair with the Big Apple. While in the end I decided to to just casually date NY and marry Mr. Nice Guy Minnesota (we're very happy together), a recent trip back to my not-so-old stomping grounds gave me a chance to hit up my favorite parts of the city again. And in true Emily fashion...there is a food theme.
S'MAC
I think the only time I've ever turned down macaroni and cheese was the day after I watched my friend borf it up, propellor-style, on the tire swing in first grade. My carb-n-cheese world expanded with the introduction of S'MAC. Located on 12th between 1st and 2nd, this little orange haven provides several types of delectable mac and cheesies. My favorite is the cheeseburger mac, but if you're feeling even more adventurous, they create regionally-inspired variations like French and Cajun. You can get pretty fancy. Also, it comes in an individual skillet so you can fully appreciate the delicious baked taste. Feeling like a snack? Try the Nosh size. One size up is Mega Munch, which is the perfect amount to say "I'm never going to finish this" and then actually finish it. It's okay, we all do it. Mmm cheese....!!!
PINKBERRY
Frozen yogurt is everywhere. You're probably within 100 feet of fro-yo right now and you don't even realize it. A lot of it is awful and will send you flailing for the tender embrace of ice cream, but some of it is great - and made even better with delicious toppings. Pinkberry purveyors starting popping up in NY my sophomore year, and a large cup of the good stuff sometimes even became a meal replacement for me and my ladyfriends (we all make choices). On this recent trip, I discovered they have expanded their flavors to include chocolate, lychee, green tea and pomegranate, adding to their standard original (still my favorite). Toppings available include fresh fruit, nuts, granola, chocolate shavings - all pretty expected - but they also add enticing and unique options like Fruity Pebbles and Cap'n Crunch to the mix. It may be simple, but it makes for an excellent snack or dessert...or, if it's been one of those days, a suitable lunch.
RICE TO RICHES
Rice pudding has come a long way from Kozy Shack in your grandma's fridge. This dessert locale in SoHo is my dad's favorite treat spot in the city, and it's definitely one of my top places to indulge. Sure, you could just stick with original rice pudding, but with flavors like rocky road, almond, raspberry and dulce de leche...why would you? The decor is funky and sassy (although I don't need their big signs to remind me that I'm not in "diet country"), and you get to walk away with not only a ridiculously large portion of rice pudding, but a unique plastic container and spoon. I knew my former roommate and I would have a good year together when, upon moving in, I discovered she contributed about seven of these Rice to Riches spoons to our silverware drawer.
NUTS 4 NUTS
Despite everything you know about me, I actually don't really encourage the regular consumption of street food. While I have many friends who eat halal food daily from a cart or sink their teeth into hot dogs from a vendor, I've never been too keen on eating from a contraption that unfolded on the sidewalk that morning. My exception, however, is a big one: Nuts 4 Nuts. There are many times when I have followed the smell of honey-roasted goodness, avoiding near-misses with cabs and pedestrians and keeping an eye on the horizon for that familiar orange umbrella that will lead me to the lil' nut cart below. Okay, so I boycotted for awhile when the price went up from $1 to $1.50 (now you're going to make me dig for quarters??), but that didn't last long. A great mid-day snack, the little bag is best when warm and fresh.
CAFETASIA
I pride myself on happy hour knowledge of my favorite Minneapolis spots. I sort of thought that a truly good happy hour (at least one involving real food) didn't exist in New York, like coupons and Perkins. That is, until I discovered Cafetasia. With two locations, I still prefer the one on the NYU "campus", although it can get very busy. This Thai restaurant already has a great menu, but, between noon and 7pm EVERY DAY, you can get...wait for it...a tiny appetizer (try gyoza), a meal (love the chicken pad thai) and a drink (including a draught Stella!) for $10. Ten dollars. And despite the deal, you're not sitting under fluorescent lights looking at a picture menu in a hard plastic booth. The atmosphere is trendy, hip, dark and with candles (a true indication that something classy is going on). Seven happy hours of Thai goodness per day. I wish the whole establishment could fit in my carry-on back to Mpls.
THINK
Sure, there is a trusty Starbucks on every corner, but for truly good, organic and delicious coffee, plus a warm atmosphere, Think is the place to go. With a few locations in Greenwich Village and one near Union Square, you can find an alternative when there's no seating available (which happens somewhat frequently). If you do find a chair to camp out in for awhile, it's a great place to people-watch and sip a Spanish latte (espresso, milk and a shot of sweetened condensed milk - yum!). Aside from being a traditional, environmentally-aware coffee shop, Think quite literally sells the best bagels I've ever had in my life ever EVER. However, they are guaranteed to be sold out by 10am. This fact alone propelled me out of bed to make it early classes on many a winter morning.
LEVAIN
New York is chock-full of bakeries, and while I know that many are absolutely fantastic, there is only one Levain. This super-small, basement bakery is snuggled in the Upper West Side and while I love their bread...it's all about the cookies. They keep it simple with four flavors - chocolate chip walnut (fave), chocolate chocolate chip, dark chocolate peanut butter and oatmeal raisin. For $4 each, it's everything you ever loved about a cookie. Crunchy/chewy outside, warm and soft middle that's just close enough to doughy to make it perfect. My friends and I have a tradition of buying a carton of milk to share at the next door deli and then heading to nearby Central Park to enjoy our cookies and milk while mocking first dates in rowboats. To each his own. It's so much cookie, you might not finish it all at once, but remembering late at night that you have leftover cookie morsels is an excellent experience.
MAGNOLIA
No, I'm not going to talk about cupcakes, because I'm over them. Everyone sells their own versions now that are pretty much the same, and I don't find it cute anymore. BUT navigating the Village's nonsensical street "grid" is totally worth it for what I believe Magnolia does best: banana pudding. It's actually more like banana-infused whipped cream with chunks of banana and Nilla wafers to add some texture, and like two teaspoons of pure joy and a pinch of uncontrollable happiness. You could accuse me of exaggerating, but then I'd know you've never had this dessert-of-gods and should just shut your pudding hole. Required refrigeration is the only thing that has stopped me from stuffing my purse full and bringing it all back home.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Settling.
How much do we love Redbox? THIIIIIIIIS much! Aside from occasionally having to wait to rent/return or having to spend just enough time in a McDonald's to leave smelling like a McNugget without actually eating one, it ain't a bad system.
The other day, I was forced to patiently wait behind a man pondering his rental options. This rather thuggish and gangsta-esque looking dude ending up choosing "He's Just Not That Into You", and while the wait was annoying, it definitely made my afternoon. I picture him in a bubble bath, drinking a Skinny Girl raspber-ita and contemplating the last third date he went on. Is it weird to say I think we bonded a bit? ....yes? Okay.
Because it's only a dollar (and eight cents, which sometimes matters to my sad, sad bank account), I can justify almost any movie selection - especially when left to my own devices. Occasionally, The Boy will have some input, but sometimes I just show up at his place and say, "Look what I got!" and that's that. This led to a few less-than-ideal movie nights in the past week.
The first one, "Dinner With Schmucks", was just disturbing and made me sad, and I'm not going to say any more about it.
BUT my other choice was...drumroll please..."Life As We Know It." Or, as it might as well be called, "A RomCom As We Know It...And Have Seen Millions of Times...But Yet We Still Might Tear Up At a Few Predictable Spots."
If you're not familiar, this is the Katherine Heigl/Josh Duhamel love connection involving a baby willed to them by their unfortunately dead friends. Of course, they start off highly incompatible and end up falling head over heels for each other (obviously), despite not dealing with any of the issues that plagued their forced relationship before, plus some baby humor. Yes, you've seen it before when it was "Knocked Up," and you've seen the template hundreds of times.
The Boy (getting a headache from rolling his eyes so much) finally asked how I, being a scriptwriter, could watch such a paint-by-number, predictable movie. And while I agree that it was pretty routine, there's something nice about that. Not every movie is "Inception." Sometimes a romcom can get me through the night.
And that's why these movies are so popular. It's nice to know that the attractive couple is going to fight, but then they'll realize they are perfect for each other, and then an outside conflict will break them up again, and then they'll be together forever at the very end. Sure. Works for me.
Don't get me wrong, this is by no means my favorite genre of movie, and I don't go out of my way to pay over $1.08 to see them. But what is wrong with wrapping yourself in the soothing snuggie of predictability every once in a blue moon? Nothing.
At least The Boy got to see Katherine Heigl's boobs, albeit clothed.
The other day, I was forced to patiently wait behind a man pondering his rental options. This rather thuggish and gangsta-esque looking dude ending up choosing "He's Just Not That Into You", and while the wait was annoying, it definitely made my afternoon. I picture him in a bubble bath, drinking a Skinny Girl raspber-ita and contemplating the last third date he went on. Is it weird to say I think we bonded a bit? ....yes? Okay.
Because it's only a dollar (and eight cents, which sometimes matters to my sad, sad bank account), I can justify almost any movie selection - especially when left to my own devices. Occasionally, The Boy will have some input, but sometimes I just show up at his place and say, "Look what I got!" and that's that. This led to a few less-than-ideal movie nights in the past week.
The first one, "Dinner With Schmucks", was just disturbing and made me sad, and I'm not going to say any more about it.
BUT my other choice was...drumroll please..."Life As We Know It." Or, as it might as well be called, "A RomCom As We Know It...And Have Seen Millions of Times...But Yet We Still Might Tear Up At a Few Predictable Spots."
If you're not familiar, this is the Katherine Heigl/Josh Duhamel love connection involving a baby willed to them by their unfortunately dead friends. Of course, they start off highly incompatible and end up falling head over heels for each other (obviously), despite not dealing with any of the issues that plagued their forced relationship before, plus some baby humor. Yes, you've seen it before when it was "Knocked Up," and you've seen the template hundreds of times.
The Boy (getting a headache from rolling his eyes so much) finally asked how I, being a scriptwriter, could watch such a paint-by-number, predictable movie. And while I agree that it was pretty routine, there's something nice about that. Not every movie is "Inception." Sometimes a romcom can get me through the night.
And that's why these movies are so popular. It's nice to know that the attractive couple is going to fight, but then they'll realize they are perfect for each other, and then an outside conflict will break them up again, and then they'll be together forever at the very end. Sure. Works for me.
Don't get me wrong, this is by no means my favorite genre of movie, and I don't go out of my way to pay over $1.08 to see them. But what is wrong with wrapping yourself in the soothing snuggie of predictability every once in a blue moon? Nothing.
At least The Boy got to see Katherine Heigl's boobs, albeit clothed.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Get the %*#@ out of my way...but have a nice day!
One of the reasons I don't live in New York anymore (please don't think I based my decision solely on this, though) is that I love driving. Love. It. Get me behind the wheel of a car at any time and I will promptly find a sunset to drive into, singing "Life is a Highway" with the windows down.
Sure, public transportation is awesome. It's great for the environment, prevents even more horrific traffic jams and you get to play "spot the crazy mofo" - a crowd favorite. But I'll be honest, when it comes to getting from Point A to Point B, I like my alone time. I can eat a burrito. I don't have to worry about sucking in. And, now this is important for someone musically challenged, I can have the rare opportunity to sing as loud as I want, to whatever music (Rhianna anyone? Sure! Who's there to judge?), until I'm hoarse - or I reach Chanhassen, whichever comes first.
Driving is fantastic. I prefer to use my three speeding tickets to illustrate one thing and one thing only - these ticket statistics prove that I'm in my car that much more than the average person. Not that I drive too fast and/or I'm unaware of my surroundings...such as posted speed limits...no way, get outta here.
But being the driving lover I am...there is something deep inside that is unleashed at particular moments on the road. This alter-ego was kept in the confines of my darkest depths until I turned 16 and was handed the keys to my grandpa's old Cadillac deVille. This disturbing maniac transcends the simple and common "road rage" - no, there's more to this lil' demon.
Did you just cut me off? Maybe you're swerving in two lanes, obviously drunk/texting or just really indecisive. Perhaps you never learned how to merge appropriately. More often than not, you incorrectly thought it would be acceptable to go 50 mph on the highway.
WRONG. Enter my scary and very unladylike car devil. I'm cursing like a sailor, threatening you under my breath, wrenching my little Scion out of your way and leaving you in my dust. I will say things about you, a stranger, that I would never say about my worst enemy. I will find things to say, to myself, about your car, your bumper stickers and your head shape poking over the seat. I come just short of spewing pea soup.
But wait. I'm still a Minnesotan, right? Of course I am. So, the most this offender will ever see is a very calculated, very well-practiced, eye-locking death stare. I've been told it's quite terrifying. I do my best. You will also receive this look if you don't do the Minnesotan thing and wave back when I let you in. Because, come on, that's just polite.
Where does this rage come from? It's certainly not appropriate and not something I'm proud of. As soon as the passenger air bag is switched on, the demon is switched off. No one has heard this first-hand. I really do wish all of my fellow drivers well.
Is it repressed hardcore anger that is typically forced to emerge only in culturally appropriate ways, like passive aggression and backhanded compliments? Maybe. The manifestation of the thrill of feeling the steering wheel in my hands and the speedometer creep to 60? Dunno. But I'm afraid of it. And I sort of think others should be, too. Because if I can't control it, my Scion certainly can't contain it for long (I think my car weighs less than I do).
Maybe the solution is a trusty bike. Although, if such a similar alter-ego presents itself atop a Schwinn, passersby can play "spot the crazy mofo" with even more ease and accuracy. It will always be me.
Sure, public transportation is awesome. It's great for the environment, prevents even more horrific traffic jams and you get to play "spot the crazy mofo" - a crowd favorite. But I'll be honest, when it comes to getting from Point A to Point B, I like my alone time. I can eat a burrito. I don't have to worry about sucking in. And, now this is important for someone musically challenged, I can have the rare opportunity to sing as loud as I want, to whatever music (Rhianna anyone? Sure! Who's there to judge?), until I'm hoarse - or I reach Chanhassen, whichever comes first.
Driving is fantastic. I prefer to use my three speeding tickets to illustrate one thing and one thing only - these ticket statistics prove that I'm in my car that much more than the average person. Not that I drive too fast and/or I'm unaware of my surroundings...such as posted speed limits...no way, get outta here.
But being the driving lover I am...there is something deep inside that is unleashed at particular moments on the road. This alter-ego was kept in the confines of my darkest depths until I turned 16 and was handed the keys to my grandpa's old Cadillac deVille. This disturbing maniac transcends the simple and common "road rage" - no, there's more to this lil' demon.
Did you just cut me off? Maybe you're swerving in two lanes, obviously drunk/texting or just really indecisive. Perhaps you never learned how to merge appropriately. More often than not, you incorrectly thought it would be acceptable to go 50 mph on the highway.
WRONG. Enter my scary and very unladylike car devil. I'm cursing like a sailor, threatening you under my breath, wrenching my little Scion out of your way and leaving you in my dust. I will say things about you, a stranger, that I would never say about my worst enemy. I will find things to say, to myself, about your car, your bumper stickers and your head shape poking over the seat. I come just short of spewing pea soup.
But wait. I'm still a Minnesotan, right? Of course I am. So, the most this offender will ever see is a very calculated, very well-practiced, eye-locking death stare. I've been told it's quite terrifying. I do my best. You will also receive this look if you don't do the Minnesotan thing and wave back when I let you in. Because, come on, that's just polite.
Where does this rage come from? It's certainly not appropriate and not something I'm proud of. As soon as the passenger air bag is switched on, the demon is switched off. No one has heard this first-hand. I really do wish all of my fellow drivers well.
Is it repressed hardcore anger that is typically forced to emerge only in culturally appropriate ways, like passive aggression and backhanded compliments? Maybe. The manifestation of the thrill of feeling the steering wheel in my hands and the speedometer creep to 60? Dunno. But I'm afraid of it. And I sort of think others should be, too. Because if I can't control it, my Scion certainly can't contain it for long (I think my car weighs less than I do).
Maybe the solution is a trusty bike. Although, if such a similar alter-ego presents itself atop a Schwinn, passersby can play "spot the crazy mofo" with even more ease and accuracy. It will always be me.
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