the city that never sleeps is always eating, the last meals

It's been many days since we last spoke of New York. But that's because our last day was so good that we had to build up to it a little. Get your pants on, 'cause here we go again...

While we were disappointed that we had missed out on Barney Greengrass ("The Sturgeon King"), we more than made up for it with our visit to the "Queens of Lake Sturgeon," Russ and Daughters. Located in the Lower East Side, Russ & Daughters is a holdout in what used to be a largely Jewish neighborhood. This is the kind of shop that we definitely don't have in Portland. Sure, Kenny & Zukes opened last year to our immense delight and sure, their Jewish deli fare is top notch, but it just doesn't have quite the same feel as a New York institution like Russ & Daughters. From the decor to the product to the staff, Russ & Daughters operates on a different level than anything we've ever experienced. The cases are crammed with smoked and pickled fish, with easily ten types of salmon alone, and watching over it all is a line of portraits of Russ and his daughters. Ordering felt a little like being in another country; we were crowded in by a set of regulars shouting their orders to the bustling staff behind the counter. It all sounded so foreign to our smoked-fish deprived ears.

We managed to get our order in and retreated from the store with our booty. After grabbing some fresh-squeezed orange-mango juice from a cart across the street, we settled down on a park bench to try the smoked sable and sturgeon we'd selected. The sable was very fishy and ocean-y sweet. It was quite good on its cream cheese-slathered bagel, but we must say that it was no better than the sable we'd had from Kenny & Zukes. But the sturgeon, oh, the sturgeon, was a different story altogether. Incredibly tender, but equally meaty, almost like tuna, it really tasted sublime. Perhaps we'll never know how it stands up to Barney's kingly offerings, but in this case we're inclined to say that Russ' sturgeon is a Queen to be reckoned with.

On our way out of Russ', we impulsively grabbed a chocolate-covered halvah bar. Yes, it was only breakfast, but we had a feeling we'd need a snack later. It just happened that "later" meant "after breakfast." The purchase turned out to be serendipitous; when we popped into a nearby exhibit of the traveling NY Food Museum, we discovered it was focused entirely on the history of the Joyva Candy Company, the maker of our halvah. See, candy for breakfast can be educational.

From there, we hopped on the train to midtown to visit what may be the holy grail of import shops, Kalustyans. The store's small square footage belies its unbelievable selection - the place feels like an endless labyrinth of floor-to-ceiling shelves packed tightly with an array of spices, herbs, beans, pulses, grains, fruits, nuts, oils, sauces, and snacks. After we recovered from our awe, we set about stuffing our shopping basket with oddities for which we had no specific plans. If we hadn't been concerned about carry-on liquid restrictions from the airline, we most certainly would have weighed down our bags with:
1. ghee
2. argan oil
3. elderflower cordial
4. any other pastes and syrups we could stuff in

Instead, we contented ourselves with:
1. Four kinds of exotic rice
2. An assortment of spices including black cardamom, mahleb cherry pits, and dried limes
3. Dried, stuffed Indian peppers and birdseye chiles
4. Indian palm sugar
5. Chestnut paste (we figured we'd mail it home if necessary)

Shopping at Kalustyans revived our appetites, so we headed over to our lunch destination, a Japanese noodle bar in the East Village named Rai Rai Ken. Neither of us have been to Japan, so while we'd like to say the place was authentic, we can't really be sure - except that the cramped noodle bar looked almost exactly like the one in Tampopo, which should count for something, right? Most of the restaurant was taken up with a long narrow counter, behind which three chefs - a grill man, a broth man, and a noodle man - served up all of the dishes the restaurant had to offer.

While everything on the menu looked tasty, we had come for noodles and noodles we would eat. What you need to understand is that A dreams of noodles and insists on trying them whenever she has the opportunity. In truth, what she dreams of is Hamura's Saimin in Kaua'i, about which she could rave for hours. So far, nothing else has matched up, but A did affirm that the noodles we ordered at Rai Rai Ken came close. P got the shio ramen, a subtle seafood-based broth, while A went for the standard shoyu ramen, which is soy based and savory. Both had top-notch, fresh, toothy noodles; a hard-boiled egg; a slab of cooked pork; and those alien-looking pink-swirled fish cakes. The soup was soothing and incredibly filling, but A could have ordered another bowl if P hadn't restrained her. After all, P was still holding out for some dumplings in the afternoon.

While walking around the Lower East Side to work off our lunch, we stumbled upon Economy Candy, a wonderland of chocolate nostalgia. As both of us tend to horde our candy (we're still working on our Easter candy and only recently tossed out the remaining Christmas chocolates), the sheer amount of sugar in this store could have lasted us twenty lifetimes. P recognized candies from his childhood on the East coast that are difficult to find on the west side. We were attracted by the retro wrapper of the Valomilk, so we picked one up to compare to P's childhood favorite, the Mallo Cup. With our choices in hand, we quickly paid and left before we got a second-hand sugar rush.

Given how beautiful the weather was, we decided to stop into Schiller's Liquor bar for a lazy, afternoon drink. Schiller's has absolutely fabulous design with a custom typeface that looks like casually imperfect handwriting and an interior that looks like a unkempt Parisian cafe. As we sat in the breeze from the open doors, P enjoyed a crisp and refreshing Pimm's Cup while A had a glass of a dry rosé. Still longing for those nearby dumplings, we politely declined any food (even after spying a basket of frites passing our table). It may sound like an odd recommendation, but if you ever get there, make sure to check out the bathrooms, which have great old tile work and amazing, restored, antique fixtures.

We passed Vanessa's three times before checking the address and realizing it was the former #1 Dumpling House, for which we had been searching. Really, though, the crowds of people should have tipped us off. Inside, there were easily two dozen women steadily working to prepare the dumplings - one team assembled the raw ingredients in a back production room while another team manned the fryers and steaming pots. We ordered 4 pork & chive dumplings and 8 steamed veggie ones. Total bill? $4! We had been snacking pretty steadily all day, so 12 dumplings was really more than we needed, but we still were bummed when we saw other patrons leaving with giant sesame pancake sandwiches (only $2!) in hand. However, we were consoled by the fact that both varieties of dumplings were so delicious. The pork and chive were clearly the stand-outs, bursting with flavor and so juicy that we barely kept our chins clean.

We were planning on cooking dinner for P's uncles that night, so we had still had some shopping to do. As we headed up to the greenmarket at Union Square, we walked through the ever-expanding Chinatown, past the remaining block of little Italy, and ducked into the Soho Dean & Deluca, just to take a peek. When we passed by, their cheesemonger was raving about a Willamette Valley Cheese named Perrydale. We'll say it one last time: NYC *hearts* PDX (and greater Or-y-gone).

One of the difficulties of our style of traveling is that we tend to treat grocery stores, butchers and markets as tourist attractions, leaving us disappointed that we can't purchase food from them as though we were locals. So we were excited for the chance to patronize some of the farm stands at the greenmarket that we had browsed through earlier in the week. The warm weather we'd had all week had brought out the first of the spring greens; raab, mustard, and kale were piled high beside the bundled asparagus spears. We reminded ourselves that we only needed fixings for one meal and limited our purchases to some beautifully-flowered broccoli raab and nice, thin asparagus. If we hadn't been avoiding liquids for our flight home, we'd easily have splurged on:
1. local maple syrup
2. artisan honey
3. Rick's Picks pickled beets and okra

Even though we love first-of-the-season-asparagus all on its own, we needed a few more things for our meal. We returned to Murray's Cheese to round out the makings for our dinner, enticed by a product we'd spied earlier in the week. Amongst their dried pasta offerings, they had a bin of toasted orecchiette. Quite recently, we had tried our hand at making our own orecchiette and, even more recently, read about the old Italian practice of lightly toasting flour before using it in a recipe. We were intrigued. So, we picked up a hefty bag of this Puglian specialty and began building a meal around it; our just-bought asparagus, a little prosciutto and some wood-smoked, fresh mozzarella from New York's Joe's Dairy.
As P picked up the ingredients, A scanned the shelves for Ronnybrook's yogurt, nearly squealing with delight when she spied the coconut flavor. She made sure to snag one for breakfast in the morning (or maybe for a late-night snack).

On the train back to P's uncles' home, we listed off the places we hadn't had a chance to see; we knew that we'd need to plan another trip to New York to taste everything we'd missed. Four weeks should be about enough time to try it all, right?
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Toasted Orecchiette with Asparagus, Smoked Mozzarella, and Prosciutto

1 lb. dried toasted orecchiette (a Puglian specialty made with lightly baked flour)
1 lb. fresh asparagus spears
1/2 lb. freshly smoked mozzarella
1/4 lb. thinly sliced prosciutto (go for domestic, which is cheaper, as you'll be cooking it)
olive oil
flat-leaf parsley
sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Bring a large pot of heavily salted water to a boil. As the water is heating for the pasta, snap off the woody ends of the asparagus and slice the soft green stems on the bias into 1 inch segments. When the water begins to boil, toss the asparagus into the pot and blanch for 30 seconds to 1 minute, testing to make sure they are cooked, but not soft. Remove the asparagus from the water with a slotted spoon and run under cold water to arrest the cooking.

Add the orecchiette to the boiling water from which you've just removed the asparagus. Cook for 11 to 12 minutes, until al dente.

Roughly tear the mozzarella into 1/2 inch pieces and the prosciutto into thin ribbons.

Before draining the orecchiette, reserve a 1/2 cup of the cooking liquid from the pot. Drain the cooked pasta in a colander and add a few good glugs of olive oil to the pot. Return it to the stove over medium heat, and add the prosciutto, cooking lightly for less than a minute. Add the asparagus and toss with some salt and pepper to taste. Throw the orecchiette back in the pot with the asparagus and prosciutto and toss to coat pasta, adding a little of the reserved water if it seems dry. Add the mozzarella and, working quickly (it will start melt!), stir the cheese into the dressed pasta. Transfer to deep pasta bowls and sprinkle with finely chopped flat-leaf parsley.
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Russ & Daughters - 179 E. Houston St; F,V @ Lower East Side/Second Ave; J,M,Z @ Essex
Kalustyans - 123 Lexington Ave; 6 @ 28th St
Rai Rai Ken - 214 E. 10th St; 6 @ Astor Pl; L @ First Ave
Schiller's Liquor Bar - 131 Rivington St; J,M,Z @ Essex; F @ Delancey
Economy Candy - 108 Rivington St; F @ Delancey
Vanessa's Dumpling House - 220 E. 14th St; L @ Third Ave; 4,5,6,L,N,Q,R,W @ 14th St/Union Square
Union Square Greenmarket - Union Square between 14th and 17th Streets
Murray's Cheese - 254 Bleecker Street; 1 @ Christopher St/Sheridan Square; A,B,C,D,E,F,V @ W. 4th St. Washington Square

the city that never sleeps is always eating, pt. 4

Now that we had tasted breakfast in the city, our appetite for morning snacks was insatiable. We've mentioned before that we want to like doughnuts more than we do. Our recent trip to Top Pot in Seattle had seemed promising, but was a little disappointing. We still hadn't found our gateway doughnut. Doughnut Plant caught our eye when we first read about their seasonal flavors like strawberry and toasted chestnut and the high-quality, organic ingredients. We thought we might as well give it a chance.

Before we had even set foot inside the doorway, the counterman had our number. He laughed, "I saw you two from a block away and knew you were coming here, smiling like that. I was going to tell you, 'Oh, sorry man, we're closed today." He then proceeded to ask us where we came from and when we mentioned Portland, he didn't miss a beat before saying, "Oh, Voodoo Doughnuts, right?" See? New York *hearts* Portland. We ordered a bag with a chocolate-glazed, a square coconut cream, and something called a "Blackout" before heading over to a Chinatown soccer field to see what we'd gotten ourselves into.

The regular chocolate-glazed doughnut had an amazing, yeasty crumb. It was fluffy and not-too-sweet (the chocolate was Valrhona). Right off the bat, it was the best doughnut either of us had ever tasted. In fact, we hesitate to call these doughnuts, given how far they were from our previous conceptions of the food. We'd mainly gotten the coconut cream one because it was square, and we're suckers for gimmicks, but it was a real knock-out. It had the same airy, yeasty taste and was filled with a perfectly light and sweet cream. Even though we both avoid cake doughnuts, we got a "blackout" because it was the house specialty. It turned out to be an unbelievable surprise. This doughnut was far more like a dense, moist cupcake than the dry cake dougnnuts we were used to. Plus, the fudge swirl and chocolate crumbs only made the entire thing all the more decadent. These doughnuts were like having a peak-of-the-season tomato and realizing, "This is what it is supposed to taste like; this is what people are talking about." We are not exaggerating when we say we'd consider moving to New York for Doughnut Plant alone.

Having thus expanded our minds (and bellies) we decided to spend some time away from food. The Brooklyn Museum, which at one time was almost the largest museum in the world, is now relatively under-appreciated, given all of the local competition. The museum itself is beautiful and even though much of it was under renovation as part of a hip re-design, there was still plenty on display to see. It also draws some real heavy-hitting exhibits, like the Takashi Murakami show, ©MURAKAMI, which had brought us there. Murakami is a very clever contemporary artist, who blends anime, otaku culture, manga, sex, urban vinyl, classical scroll painting, and a heaping dose of commercialism. We spent the first twenty minutes watching a stream of videos - everything from Kaikai & Kiki cartoons to Kanye West's recent music video. If you take a look at that cartoon link, it captures most of the exhibit's content (apart from the sexually explicit life-size action figures). Murakami is actually a very proficient painter and fills his hyperkinetic, color-saturated canvas with allusions to Japanese culture like two massive paintings of pop-art daruma figures. Throughout his career, Murakami has always been quick to capitalize on the touchy relationship between art and commerce, editioning miniatures of his sculpture and merchandising all of his characters. It all blends so thoroughly that when you see the lines of people queuing up to buy plush cartoon flowers, it's difficult to tell whether Murakami is making a statement or just a buck. Still, if you'd like a more exclusive souvenir, there was a full, working Vuitton store selling Murakami-branded purses in the middle of the exhibit.

After a large helping of pop-culture and consumerism, it is only fitting that we immersed ourselves in feminist art and politics. Judy Chicago's sculpture, The Dinner Party, is often regarded as the defining work of the 1970s' feminist art movement, but was kept in storage until the Brooklyn Museum dedicated a wing to it in 2007. Just another example of the marginalization and trivialization of women's production, but we'll save that for another time. It was incredibly refreshing to see a museum gallery full of vulvas, when most of the history of art is peppered with phalluses. The Dinner Party is a very commanding piece and it was cool to see groups of school children engaging with the symbolism, while docents gingerly prodded the kids in the right direction. A was thoroughly inspired.

So many vulvas, not enough wieners. So we went to Willie's Dawg's, the New York source for "Let's be frank" hot dogs (a provider founded by the former Chez Panisse "meat forager"). Now, if we may talk about ourselves in the third person for a moment, P&A love hot dogs, but worry about their sustainability. Niman ranch grass-fed beef solves that. Why can't all hot dogs be so tasty and morally sound? To make matters even better, Willie's supports the Humane Society and crowds the walls with pictures of rescue dogs. Adorable. P chose the "Mutto de Mayo," which was topped with chipotle mayo, onions, tomatoes, chiles, and "tortilla dust." Meanwhile, A's "Murray" dog tasted like a seven-layer casserole, with avocado, beans, sour cream, tomato...and now we've lost count. We are, however, counting the days until we can order online.

Afterwards, we rode up north and walked down through Greenpoint to Williamsburg. Greenpoint is a large Polish neighborhood bustling with activity and Eastern European food. It stuck P as being close to what Scranton would have been like back in its hey-day. We wished we could have spent more time there and we very much wished we could have tried the pirogies at Lomzynianka. If you live in New York and are reading this, it is your duty to try them on our behalf. We lingered outside staring at the menu for ten minutes before we conquered our desire in favor of our health and well-being.

If we couldn't let ourselves eat for a little while, we might as well exercise our sense of smell. So we went to check out CB I hate perfume, an inventive and irreverent perfumer. A while back, P had bought A a perfume from them that smelled like smoky tea, musty shelves and leather book bindings called "Russian Caravan Tea." Believe us - it smells amazing. A has never liked perfume, but CB's memory-based approach to scent appealed to her, particularly their hyper-accurate food scents. Pimm's Cup. California roll. French Bread. Imagine the possibilities... We probably sounded like fools as we kept inhaling aromas and exclaiming, "Whoa, it smells exactly like what the label says!" That might be the point. Hopefully we made up for our remedial scent identification with A's purchase, "To See a Flower," a scent that changes from the dirt and chlorophyll of just-cut stems to a light floral petal aroma. We're sorry our blog isn't scratch n' sniff.

We wandered around Williamsburg a little longer, as we still had over an hour before we were meeting our friend Hannah at our dinner destination. It was 4:00. 5:15 may seem a ridiculous time to meet for dinner (and it was, a little), but we were a bit nervous about getting into Una Pizza Napoletana. They are only open four days a week, and only then from five until they run out of dough. Any talk of food "running out" gets us panicked, so we arrived at 5:15, waited until Hannah showed up at 5:45 and easily sat down in a half-full restaurant. Better safe than sorry.

The pizza was well worth our embarrassing eagerness. Namely because this pizza would be worth any sort of tribulation. Anthony Mangieri, the pizzaiolo (with a great name), makes only four pizzas. He has no takeout menu (why would you need one with four options?), but rather a manifesto outlining his technique and his chosen ingredients. For a sense of his attitude, he was recently featured in a CHOW video series called, "Obsessives."

Each pizza is incredibly simple, essentially a variation on the same handful of ingredients. Between the three of us, we split a margherita (tomato sauce, buffalo mozzarella, basil), a filletti (fresh tomatoes, buffalo mozzarella, basil), and a special fifth (!) pizza of argula, parmiggiano, and buffalo mozarella. All three pies were drizzled with high-quality olive oil and a sprinkling of sea salt crystals, a combination that heightened the other flavors. They really were unlike any pizza we'd ever had. The crust was charred, but retained its lightness and was incredibly flavorful (it's naturally leavened and takes 36 hours to make); every bite was a burst of concentrated tastes. With pizza like this it's hard to pick a favorite, but the margherita definitely topped the list, the arugula pie close behind. You might scoff when Mangieri claims, "Nothing... purer or [more] honestly wholesome can be bought at any price," but if you've had his pizza, his cockiness is well-warranted.

In the last few years, there has been a huge surge in speakeasy style bars - places that focus on classic cocktails in "hidden" locations. PDT is hidden inside a hot dog joint; to be precise, it is through the phone booth of Crif Dogs. A dialed the phone to the restaurant and we managed to sneak in through the false wall just before the rush of reservations began. Swankily appointed with wooden panels, leather banquettes and taxidermied animals, the bar looked like the Doug Fir had crossed with a Rat-Pack-era lounge. Their drink menu was full of unique combinations such as P's choice: an old-fashioned with bacon-infused bourbon and maple syrup. It wasn't just breakfast in a glass; it was much more balanced and complex than you'd expect and had some of the qualities of a scotch. A ordered a concoction of port, cab franc, egg, cherry, lillet and who knows what else. It was rich, frothy and delicious. We only had time for one drink before our seats were promised to someone with reservations, so P couldn't order the bar-special hot dog, a deep-fried, bacon-and-kimchi-wrapped frank invented by David Chang of Momofuku fame. It was a great disappointment for P and posed yet another in a string of reasons to move to New York.

From here, the drinks got less classy and the food disappeared. Hannah showed us Beauty Bar, a rehabbed salon that offered discount cocktails with manicures during happy hour. Luckily, it ended up being much more punk than P had expected. We drank some Brooklyn lagers under the beehive hairdryers and took enough flash-photos that we are surprised we weren't kicked out. After that, all we can remember is that we ended up in a Ukranian bar in the East Village called the Sly Fox, drinking bombers of Obolon beer while suited mob-types paced in the back hall. All and all, a successful Thursday.

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Doughnut Plant - 379 Grand St, New York; J,M,Z @ Essex; F @ Delancey
Brooklyn Museum - 200 Eastern Parkway, Brooklyn; 2,3 @ Eastern Parkway/Brooklyn Museum
Willie's Dawgs - 351 Fifth Ave, Brooklyn; F,M,R @ Fourth Ave/9th St.
CB I Hate Perfume - 93 Wythe Ave, Brooklyn; L @ Bedford
Una Pizza Napoletana - 349 E. 12th St, New York; L @ First Ave; 6 @ Astor Pl.
PDT - Inside Crif Dogs at 113 St. Marks Pl, New York; 6 @ Astor Pl.; L @ First Ave
Beauty Bar - 231 E. 14th St, New York; 4, 5, 6, L, N, Q, R, W @ 14th St.-Union Sq.; L @ Third Ave

the city that never sleeps is always eating, pt. 3

Tuesday night, we had a revelation. Why eat breakfast at P's uncles' in New Jersey when we could go straight into the city for this most important of meals, thereby fitting in one extra restaurant each day? If we were going to start having city breakfasts, we decided we might as well start big. And surly. We decided to start at Shopsin's.

Ever since P read a Calvin Trillin article on the cafe, it had become a must-eat attraction for our New York trip. Each time he talked about it, A became more and more terrified of the inevitable experience. You see, Shopsin's is not your ordinary, touchy-feely, mom's home cooking kind of cafe; there are rules at Shopsin's. No parties of five. No copying your neighbor's order. There was even a proscription against writing about Shopsin's (which we believe has *hopefully* been lifted). And, as rumor had it, those who broke the rules in Shopsin's original location could be banned for life. A did not want to be banned from any food establishment for life.

After a tumultuous upheaval from their original location, Shopsin's set down roots in a new location inside the Essex Street Market, a wonderful working market full of everyday grocers and a handful of slightly-more-gourmet vendors (we wish we could have seen more of it, but we were on a tight schedule). When we came in the door of the market, we nearly passed the restaurant, wedged as it is in a cramped corner behind an adorable cheesemonger. Essentially, the place is three two-tops hidden under high shelves of ingredients, with the rest of the tables spilling out into the entryway. From a chair in the center of the cluster, Kenny Shopsin presides over it all, like the foreman of a 19th century factory. When it was time to order, he merely turned and took our requests from where he sat, yelling them out to the cook.

Now, A had worked herself up into a tizzy over the prospect of ordering, because Shopsin's menu is arcane and genre-defying. There are a few hundred options and everything is made-to-order. So A planned ahead and had a print-out of the menu from their website, from which she picked a few choices. When the time approached, she didn't choke, but rather admirably ordered the "Diego," while P ordered some pancakes. What was the Diego? Oh, just a mammoth bowl of poutine with poached eggs - perfect fries, brown gravy and egg yolk. Pancakes sounds awfully dull for such a storied place, eh? Not when they are made of mac & cheese suspended in a fluffy, sweet batter and served with hot sauce and maple syrup. Based on our best estimate, there were about ten of them, and we ate 'em all (and neither of us like pancakes! [as you roll your eyes]). The salty tang of the cheddar cheese went really well with the sweetness of the pancake and we both agree that they were best with just the syrup. Nothing could have prepared us for Shopsin's - what we'd read about it sounded gimmicky and sure, the cook did tell some women next to us to "stop fucking saying thank you," but there are few restaurants we've been to that have been more comfortable. Maybe it was the tattooed couple sitting at the counter whose wedding photo was tacked to the back of the kitchen door, but in a strange way, we felt like we were part of a dysfunctional and charming family for the hour.

We headed uptown for a lunch before going to the natural history museum. When our plans fell through for Barney Greengrass ("The Stugeon King"), which was closed recovering from Passover, we thought we'd try Bouchon Bakery. Run by Thomas Keller, this lunchtime bakery is probably the closest we'll get to his French Laundry until we renew our vows in a few years and "register" for a meal there. We ordered at the counter and took our meal outside to eat in Central Park, along with the rest of New York. While people watching in the park, we unpacked our lunch and got to work. We'd heard that Bouchon's tuna salad sandwich, a twist on a salade nicoise, was something of a marvel. As a friend of ours makes what is arguably the best tuna sandwich in the world, we thought we'd be pretty good judges. How did Bouchon's sandwich stack up? It was pretty decent for what it was - a tuna sandwich - but it didn't approach our friend Molly's creation, which transcends tuna sandwich-dom (her mix is a secret, but we know there is a little salmon thrown in for extra richness).

So, we went to a famous chef's casual cafe and we ordered a tuna sandwich. Boorrrinnggg. Our other choices were perhaps a little more inspired. Even though the guy at the counter looked at us like we were crazy when we ordered it to go, we were sure we wanted to try the asparagus soup. Topped with citrus creme fraiche and hazlenuts, the bright green soup was the essence of spring and was a perfect complement to the beautiful weather. For dessert, we couldn't decide between the pistachio cherry brioche and the brown butter macaroon, so we got them both. They were each great, but the macaroon consisted of such pillowy and delightfully chewy cookies that the brioche was almost eclipsed.


From the moment we entered the American Museum of Natural History and saw the first dinosaur, A had to steady P to keep him from having a major stoke. (!) Oh, but there was much more than dinosaurs here - we also saw dinosaurs, animals, meteorites and dinosaurs. Look, people: there's nothing wrong with liking dinosaurs. Or wishing they were your friends so that you can talk to them.

To be perfectly honest (and serious), we were both enthralled and could have spent two days there, rather than the three hours we had allotted for the museum. There was so much to see that we practically had to run through the exhibits, though we did catch a few highlights:

1. One wing boasts a nice new exhibit design that charts evolution based on common bone structures of diverse species. Cool.

2. The underwater room was truly spectacular and the famous blue whale looked even larger in life.

3. Dinosaurs. We felt this point needed emphasis.

4. We saw a 200 ton meteorite. Fun fact!: It is so heavy that its support pylons extend all the way into the bedrock below the museum.

5. A found 3 manatees and this made her happy. One in the subway tiles, one skeleton and one underwater diorama.

6. In the "African peoples" exhibit, we noticed that one of the mannequins had jeans and sneakers. The odd clothing made it seem like a live person was beneath the costume. Unfortunately, this felt less like a scene out of a slapstick Peter Sellers film than like something from a horror movie. It only cemented our shared belief that museums (or all places of learning, for that matter) are creepy.


Before heading back to P's uncles' house for dinner, we took a stroll through Central Park, making sure to first grab an overpriced coconut popsicle in case we got lost. We didn't, but the popsicle still came in handy.

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Essex Street Market - 120 Essex Street (at Delancey Street); J,M,Z @ Essex; F,V @ Delancey
Bouchon Bakery - Time Warner Center, 10 Columbus Center, 3rd Floor;
American Museum of Natural History - 79th St. at Central Park West; B,C @ 81st; 1 @ Broadway & W. 79th

the city that never sleeps is always eating, pt. 2

Glad to be back in New York, we set out for our day biting off more than we could chew. Given how beautiful the weather was Tuesday morning, we started out with a walk across the Brooklyn bridge. It was only after we had gotten halfway over the span that we realized we had chosen the "wrong" direction; rather than walking towards a beautiful view of Manhattan, we were headed to a cluster of Jehovah's Witness "Watchtower" office buildings in downtown Brooklyn. This mistake made it pretty difficult to remain inconspicuous as tourists (something we always - probably naively - strive for when traveling), seeing as we kept turning around to take photos. Then again, how many locals really keep stopping by scenic views for the classic stretched-out-arm self-portrait?

On the Brooklyn side of the bridge, we ventured down into DUMBO in a futile search for coffee and for the Slow Food USA headquarters. We're not sure what we would have done if we'd found their offices, but that is just kind of the way we travel. We think that we located the building, even if the offices were ten stories above us, but we never found that coffee. On the subway over to the Brooklyn museum, we saw an ad that the museum was closed on Tuesdays (thank you, subway sign) and promptly switched lines to return back to the Manhattan. This may make us sound like bumpkins, but it was par-for-the-course for the first few days; a lot of going one direction, realizing our mistake, and turning around.

That the museum was closed was a disappointment, but it meant we could get started eating even sooner. We headed to the East Village to grab some lunch at Momofuku Ssam Bar, where chef David Chang has gotten a lot of accolades (he's a recent James Beard award nominee) for his pork-saturated, witty Korean mash-ups. For being the middle of a lunch hour, the chic, wooden space was surprisingly empty, though we'd later realize that the lunch menu is just a tamed-down version of the food that draws culinary adventurers in the evenings. Because P loves cha siu bao, we had to order the famous pork buns. When they came to the table, they were practically de-constructed - simple, pillowy buns folded over slow-cooked pork belly with scallions and a sweet glaze. Top that with a bit of chili paste and man, they were succulent.

Since we'd heard tales of Korean burritos (ssam means "wrapped"), we went for the lemongrass pork sausage ssam. We were presented with a plate of condiments and savory sausage, which we wrapped up in lettuce leaves into little bites. Unfortunately, Momofuku had recently abandoned their practice of rolling all of the ingredients up in a rice pancake and wrapping it in aluminum foil like a mission burrito so, while still delicious, the ssam ended up being like many dishes we'd tried at other Asian restaurants. Luckily for us, the sandwich and our sides delivered much bolder flavors. Remember A's obsession with bahn mi? Well couple that with P's obsession with French offal and you'll understand why we got the "three-terrine" bahn-mi, which was recently selected as one of Esquire magazine's best sandwiches in America. We recalled something about veal face, but couldn't guess what the other two terrines could be. It was squeaky, fatty, crunchy, and fish sauce-y; everything bahn-mi should be. Pair that sandwich with a selection of seasonal pickles (sweet cucumbers; sharp, tangy radish; salty mushrooms) and a generous bowl of "kewpie slaw" for some pure, MSG gold, and we had a very rich, tasty meal.

Waddling away from Ssam bar, we took a train over to the Chelsea Market, a Disney-fied concept of an urban market concourse. While there are some very cool vendors, the building has been rehabbed in such a way as to look really "raw" and "edgy," which ends up giving it a fake quality. In the middle of the shops, we stumbled upon a coffee shop that was boasting about their new, exclusive product: Stumptown coffee. This was only the first instance of what would become a very common theme throughout the week - NYC has a big crush on PDX.

The reason we went to Chelsea Market was to visit Ronnybrook Milk Bar, an upstate dairy that has opened a hip soda fountain to sling its farm-fresh milks, yogurts, ice creams. Ronnybrook has an incredibly cool interior - the walls are built out of re-purposed, vintage milk crates that can be pulled out to make extra seating/tables. As great as the decor is, the emphasis is really (clearly) on the dairy products. P ordered a birch beer float with some smooth vanilla ice cream. If you've never had birch beer, it is has a sharper bite than root beer and paired just perfectly with the ice cream. A got a "milk and honey," which was really just that. The milk was thick and rich and it tasted like a precursor to the milkshake. A was so thrilled with Ronnybrook's milk that she spent the rest of the trip pining for their coconut yogurt that she noticed as we were leaving their shop.

Afterwards, we walked through Chelsea down to Greenwich Village (ask us about our amazing celebrity sighting sometime), enjoying the charming brownstones and little boutiques. A few days before our trip, a friend at P's work had told us about a cupcake bakery that was the stuff of legend (the story involved someone eating two cupcakes in spite of a stomach flu). We knew it was near a Marc Jacobs, but had otherwise failed to get the address. As we passed a playground, P noticed a Marc Jacobs store and pointed it out, upon which, A demanded, "Where are the cupcakes?!" Right beyond the line of people waiting to get into Magnolia Bakery, that's where. This was definitely the first bakery either of us had ever seen with a bouncer. A couldn't believe it and, in the end, got denied for trying to sneak in. We eventually jostled for position inside and brought out two mighty-fine looking cupcakes - red velvet and chocolate-chocolate. Both of us love red velvet (remember our wedding cake?), but we have to admit, Magnolia's was disappointing - where was the cream cheese frosting!? The frosting was a too-sweet sugar frosting, though we'll admit that it was a very moist, delicious cake. We liked the chocolate cupcake much more, which had a great, rich cocoa frosting; one of the best chocolate frostings we'd ever had.

Seeing how sticky we were with icing, it seemed like a good time to thumb through some antique books. Bonnie Slotnick Cookbooks is a real treasure trove, matched only by its charming owner. Filled with great history, first editions, and lots of ephemera, we easily could have spent all day there. In the end, we came away with American Taste by James Villas, Jeanne Lesem's book on preserving, and a first edition Beard on Pasta. If we had allowed ourselves a few more hours, we probably would have emerged with one book from every shelf the shop.

We caught a train to Brooklyn to meet up with two of A's older brother's friends for dinner. Having gone to a real institution for pizza in Scranton (Revello's), we went to a slew of up-start, pizza throne usurpers in New York. Franny's is a hip, sustainably-focused pizza place that reminded us a lot of Ken's back in Portland. They had a great bar with Italian-inflected drinks (we tried a prosecco and lovage (wild celery) syrup mix, and the Twice Bitter - fernet branca, Sanbitter soda, lime, and mint). Never mind the drinks, though; the pizza was solid. A ordered a tomato, olive and garlic pie, which was tangy and crisp with a nice, light hand on the sauce. P got the clam, parsley and pepper flake pizza, a pie we'd read about that caused us to seek out Franny's. It was superlatively good - creamy, salty, briny, rich and graced with the same pour of olive oil that enriched each of the pizzas leaving the oven. Even though we'd each gotten our own pizza, we saved room for dessert: a citrus and cinnamon-inflected canolo and a chocolate gelato that tasted like frozen brownie batter.

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Momofuku Ssam Bar - 207 Second Ave; L @ First St or Third St
Ronnybrook Dairy Bar - inside Chelsea Market, 75 Ninth Ave; A,C,E @ 14th St; L @ Eight Ave
Magnolia Bakery - 401 Bleecker St; 1,2,3,F,V @ 14th St; L @ Sixth Ave
Bonnie Slotnick Cookbooks - 163 W. 10th Street; 1 @ Christopher St.-Sheridan Sq.; A,B,C,D,E,F,V @ W. 4th St.-Washington Sq.
Franny's - 295 Flatbush Ave, Brooklyn; B,Q @ Seventh Ave.; 2,3 @ Bergen St.