I’m in Japan and Hong Kong for two weeks (I’m in the air right now, writing to you from the fuuuutuuuure, eerie music), then I’m staying in California for the foreseeable future. There’s Thanksgiving, my agency’s conference in Big Sur, a downtown Napa rental for the month of December, housesitting in the Bay Area in January and February…basically, here I am, west coast!
So for the last few weeks, I’ve been eating my way around all my favorite haunts in New York City. On my all-star list? Let’s start with my old neighborhood. The octopus, castelvetrano olive, and dandelion greens salad at Frankie’s 457 on Court Street in Brooklyn. The tuna bella sandwich at Brooklyn Bread down the street. Everything, ever, at Court Street Grocers, but especially the Crackskill pulled pork sandwich. If we move further toward Atlantic, we’ll get the $4 spicy tuna rolls and kimchee at that great Japanese fishmongers next to Carroll Park, the free cheese samples at Union Market, and the talapia en papillote with artichokes and brocoli rabe at Fragole.
If we go into the city, there’s my favorite endive salad and, of course, the pizza at Posto (I make my own with artichoke hearts, chicken breast, feta, roasted garlic). There’s the incredible sentimental value of Rolf’s and East on 3rd Avenue, and L’Express and City Crab on Park, which I grew up going to in my step-dad’s neighborhood. There’s the Cambodian pulled pork banh mi that my friend just introduced me to at Num Pang, which I’m carving again, oh, right now. And Phantom Creek oysters and decadent bone marrow at Blue Ribbon.
The problem with all this yummy food is that it is now half a world away from me. I’m foreseeing an even bigger problem on the horizon, also. I’m bound to fall in love with lots of grub while I’m here in Asia. It’s guaranteed. Where’s the problem? New York and all my favorite dishes and people are just a five hour plane ride away. Plus, I have lots of free places to stay until I can get back there. Japan and Hong Kong? Not so much…
Stay tuned for many more updates on my eating adventures — with pictures! — then the obligatory “someone’s in my madman step-dad’s kitchen with Thanksgiving dinner” post in the next few weeks.
At least you’ll be organized enough to make notes. I didn’t when I lived in Thailand and I will always regret it. Aside from not knowing the names of some of the dishes I loved, there was this fruit… It looked like a little potato, had a hard skin that cracked (a bit like a lychee does), and inside was this flesh that tasted like water melon and plum only better, and it had no discernable pips/seed. They were sold on a branch/twig and I ate loads of them. Do I know what they’re called? No. Will I ever eat one again? Possibly not! Such a pity.
PS If any chowlit readers can tell me the name of this fruit, I’d be eternally grateful. Especially if they can tell me if/where I can buy the fruit in Buffalo, NY!
At least you’ll be organized enough to make notes. I didn’t when I lived in Thailand and I will always regret it. Aside from not knowing the names of some of the dishes I loved, there was this fruit… It looked like a little potato, had a hard skin that cracked (a bit like a lychee does), and inside was this flesh that tasted like water melon and plum only better, and it had no discernable pips/seed. They were sold on a branch/twig and I ate loads of them. Do I know what they’re called? No. Will I ever eat one again? Possibly not! Such a pity.
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