See what I got into last week (here).

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MOVIES 🎞️

• Insidious: Out of the Further: I remember enjoying the first Insidious when it came out and thinking it was quite creative (in the horror world) at the time, which was 16 years ago. This one was probably as close as it gets to that original energy; however, it’s 2026—aka the year of Obsession—and I don’t think this moved me in the same way.

• I was trying to see Buddy this week—think murderous Barney—but that’s getting pushed to this upcoming one. I also wanted to see Colony, the Korean zombie film, but for some reason it’s only being played at the AMC in Times Square. I’d rather be turned into a zombie than go there.

  • In any case: I think 2026 has been a really fun year for horror (and also original films in general). I was talking to a friend who credited the Ryan Cooglers (Sinners), Coralie Fargeats (The Substance), Zach Creggers (Barbarian, Weapons) and Jordan Peeles (Get Out, Us, Nope) of the world — we’re finally seeing more original, inventive films hit the big screens. He wrote about the 20 most successful summer blockbusters of the last 20 years, and it’s… sad. No vision, as “Stack” from Sinners would say. But Hollywood is waking up, it seems, and I’m excited to see what else comes out this year and beyond.

BOOKS 📚

• Yesteryear: I finished this over the weekend and had mixed feelings. I grew to love being inside the protagonist’s mind and easily fell in love with Caro Claire Burke’s writing style, but with how moderately paced the book was overall, the ending felt like a snow roller. I guess I was satisfied? But I also wish we sacrificed a few of the jumps between timelines for a meatier ending.

• Whistler: Last week, I said I had my eye on this book, and what do you know… I stumbled upon a Barnes & Noble, and it fell into my tote bag on the way out. I already devoured a few chapters Saturday morning and can tell this one is going to tug on the heartstrings in a different way than I am used to.

• Not that I need to be part of this, but I subscribe to Book of the Month, which is a (non-gimicky and easy to cancel/pause) subscription-based platform that allows you to select one new (or unreleased) fiction hardcover book. Have I read any of my recent picks?—In Cold Blood (Capote), The Great Wherever (Sanders), Main Characters (Palmer), The Burning Side (Damoff), Molka (Kim)—no. But I do love the library I am creating for myself, so if you want to do the same: HERE is my referral link to make your first box only $5.

FOOD 🍽️

• BONG: If you’re not a new reader, then you already know how deeply I love this restaurant (40 Best Bites in NYC 2025, 2025 Feast of Seven Fishes). I haven’t been since March 2026, so there were a lot of new summer dishes on the menu for me to explore: like the Cambo Corn (delicious, mini corn on the cobs doused in salted coconut milk and scallion oil), Plea Trei (think ceviche but Cambodian; would drink the liquid like a gazpacho), and Fried Squid with a sweet toasted coconut breading. You know I went back for the whole dorade fried fish, and it gets better than I remember it, every. single. time. Chef Cha… the woman that you are!!!

• El Califa de León: The Michelin-awarded taqueria in CDMX, known for putting tacos a la plancha on the map, officially made its way to NYC (Chelsea), and I got to try it on Thursday. Their speciality is meat — you literally just get a slab of meat pressed onto a corn tortilla and a choice of salsa roja or verde. It is indeed good meat (sourced from Pat LaFrieda Meat Purveyors) and fresh masa (from Brooklyn’s Sobre Masa — read my piece about NYC’s tortilla scene), so you’re definitely paying for that. I think the Gaonra and Costilla were excellent tacos, but I’m not sure I need to spend that again.

MUSIC 🎵

• Vivrant Thing (Day Party): Yesterday, I went to such a fun (and beautiful) rooftop “day” party (5-10pm), where my good friend Jamesy spun alongside Karl Brisseaux. They are both incredibly talented DJs who effortlessly weave in and out of genres, while tactfully controlling the crowd. I got to enjoy songs I’m currently obsessed with and ones I forgot I even loved. I wish I could relive last night one more time, but if it’s the last party I attend for the season, I am satisfied.

  • Some of the sounds: “London Summer” (Odeal), “Slick” (Victony), “You Will Never Find” (In Essence), “It’s Over Now” (112), “On the Hotline” (Pretty Ricky), “Crash Out” (Tinashe), “Truth or Dare” (Tyla), “Show Me Love” (Robin S), “E85” (Don Toliver).

ARTICLES 📄

• “Is Mike Wazowski Jewish or Polish?”: is doing some true investigative journalism with his deep dive into the potential ethnic background of Mike Wazowski (Monsters, Inc.). The arguments are objective, considering both sides, and ultimately we’re left with one answer. Is it what you were thinking?

• “The untold story of Gwyneth Paltrow’s body double”: Though this was written three years ago, it was on my FYP this past week. As a child, I thought Shallow Hal was hilarious. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still think that. As a woman who has always had a love/hate relationship with her body, I, like many, just took it for what it is: harmless jokes with a bigger message that looks should not matter when it comes to love. was able to interview Ivy Snitzer, Gwyneth Paltrow’s body double, and it seems like that’s exactly how she viewed things too when accepting the role. Of course, it’s not always so simple…

BONUS GOODIES 🫙

• gifted me this mug from Buddies Coffee a bit ago, but I’ve been using it more as of late since the weather isn’t scoldering, and I can enjoy a hot cup of coffée. It’s the perfect size for a standard latté pour; it’s white and milky in color and neatly fits in the palm of my hand. LOVE it.

As always, ‘amanda offline’ is where I experience things IRL first, then share them here second. Let me know in the comments what you’ve been consuming lately.

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It was a reasonably warm early-August day with just enough clouds in the sky to provide some relief from the sun. I had been sketching in my moleskine, capturing the foamy parts of the ocean as each wave crashed into shore. Race Point Beach was my favorite to come to because it was a bit more spacious and calmer than the other ones on the Cape, and it was great for people watching.

I popped a partially sandy grape into my mouth and turned up my portable speaker–which was playing “Ivy” by Frank Ocean–to drown out the squeals of the nearby children. I resumed sketching, and that’s when I saw him – standing and staring out into the distance. I followed his line of vision to see what consumed him, and there it was: a whale jumping in and out of the ocean. My eyes drifted back to where he stood, still staring out, his hands interlocked behind him.

I must have burned a hole in the back of his head because suddenly he turned around and found my eyes.

* *

“You’re right,” I said without making eye contact. “I don’t want you to be, but you are.”

I released my arms, which were pinning my upper thighs to my chest. I started to dig my feet into the cooler parts of the sand until they were completely buried. From my peripheral vision, I could see he, too, didn’t bother turning his head but used his arms to inch closer to me on the blanket. Both of us, just staring off into the distance, eyes gliding along the line where the sun would inevitably sink below us.

A seagull flew overhead, crying out in hunger. As Teyana Taylor’s “Gonna Love Me” played, I wondered if our ocean tethers deep down below were also going through the same thing as we were. Maybe they were happier.

“Trust me,” he snapped me out of my daze, “I don’t want to be right any more than you don’t want me to be.”

My head slowly swiveled left. Don’t do that.

“What?” he met my glare. You know what.

“Fine. I won’t agree with you.”

“It’s almost like you enjoy getting me worked up,” I said before shifting my attention back to the sun.

“Not at all.” His gaze warmed the side of my face as he tucked a strand of curls behind my ear. “I’m just saying I agree with you; I don’t want to be right either. I understand that won’t change your feelings or what we’re going through, but I am just trying to say I understand.”

I used to love how practical and honest he was. I just hated when he was right

“I don’t want you to agree, though; that’s the thing. You agreeing with me just means you’re right! And if you’re right, then there’s nothing left for us to fix. If there’s nothing left –”

My lips were silenced and greeted by a combination of sea salt, mango and our fleeting love. My glare softened, and I met his eyes. “Can we just enjoy this final sunset, together?” he whispered.

We both went back to staring at the horizon.

* *

I immediately tried to avoid eye contact, but it was like his focus was a magnet, and my eyes were the iron. He smiled; I giggled to myself and bowed my head, pretending my sketch was more interesting than watching him. After a few seconds, I looked up to see if he was still staring at me, but he wasn’t.

He was gone.

I had returned to the beach every day that August ‘16 in the hopes that I’d find Whale Man.

Every day for three weeks.

I had sketched pretty much every local by the time I accepted the fact that he was probably just a visitor, passing by. As I started getting up to shake off my beach blanket, pack up and go home, I heard someone suddenly come behind me and say, “You’re not leaving before the big show, are you?”

It was him. He looked even better up close: dark eyes and easy smile. “Sorry? What show?” I said, snapping out of the hypnosis his angular face had me in.

“The whales, of course,” he said, plainly.

* *

My cheeks flushed with anger. “Why do you have to say final like that? I just don’t understand why we’re here,” I scooted away from his side of the blanket.

“You wanted to come back to where we started, to see if we could feel that again. I told you –”

“I know what you told me, and I know why we’re here,” I interjected. “Don’t be condescending. I meant, how did we get here?” I gestured at the space between us. “We were fine.”

“Oh. Well. Yes — we were fine. Now you are no longer fine with it,” he said not unkindly.

So it’s my fault, then? My eyebrows raised.

“Look, I’m not blaming you. I’m saying that you don’t seem to want this–(now he gestured at the space between us)–anymore, and that’s fine. You’re not wrong for wanting more and better for yourself. I’m not wrong for not being able to give that to you.”

Still staring blankly ahead, I deeply inhaled, filling my nostrils with brine, seaweed and traces of his Burberry Touch.

I went back to thinking about our tethers below. They were definitely happier.

* *

It was an entire year after the summer we met, and we had become inseparable. Grabbing ice cream, gluttonously eating seafood, whale watching, shell picking, thrifting – you name it, we did it together.

We’d become “best friends” by October 2017. On super starry nights, we’d ride in his truck with the windows down, and I’d hang my head out the passenger side and trace the constellations with my eyes, while he drove with no destination in mind. One night, we drove to the lighthouse. “Best to You” by Blood Orange came on, and he turned it up so loud that the bassline rattled my soul. “This is our song,” he said, turning it up even louder and getting out of the car.

“Do you really want tooooo,” he crooned while spinning in a circle with his wingspan wide.

I rolled my eyes, fought a smile, and got out of the car. As he screamed the lyrics louder, I joined him — “I can be the only one!!!” Both of us laughing too hard to actually finish the words. He reached his arm out and invited me into his chest, and we just swayed.

I remember thinking: I could do this forever.

* *

“Alright. I guess that’s that,” he said, frustrated. His tone pulled me out of my memory and back to the beach, where the waves crashed louder onto shore. The day’s warmth began to fade, and the sun was officially below us.

Over the course of the evening, a tiny lump in my chest slowly grew into a boulder in my throat, and I couldn’t speak.

He was right. I did want more.

* *

Two years after the first day I saw him on the beach, we were back where it all started. As the sun began to set, we watched two whales dance together in the ocean. It had become our summer 2018 routine. “Why do you stare at the whales?” I asked.

“Whales are fascinating to me. They have these special brain cells called spindle neurons that allow them to process social bonds, empathy, and even have human-like love for their mates,” he excitedly shared. He went on and on about how they can build lifelong attachments and why it was soooo special for us to see them dancing together like this. “They love each other and have chosen each other. That’s why they are so in sync when they swim.”

I stared at him. As his eyes grew wider while admiring the whales, I whispered to myself: I choose you.

He turned his head to look at me and said, “we should be like the whales.”

“What do you mean?” my heart started racing. “You know, they are clearly a couple,” he stared into my soul. “So what,” I teased, “they’re like our tethers or something?”

“They can be,” he teased back.

I wanted to stand up and jump up and down; I wanted so badly to scream YES, YES, YES, I ACCEPT. “Alright, I guess we can give it a splash and be like whales.”

“Whales that fall in love,” he added and sealed with a kiss.

By the end of August, he asked me to move in with him.

* *

The boulder made its way to my tear ducts, pooling out like lava. As he pulled me into his body, I couldn’t stop thinking about where we went wrong.

I sobbed. Violently.

* *

It was October, and I was officially a girlfriend. Not much was different, I guess, but the fact that I lived with him. I’m not sure what I expected, but I guess not to feel this bored so soon.

“I think we should do more romantic things, maybe… like a nice dinner, or a trip somewhere!” I casually mentioned while we lay in bed watching TV. “What? Is waking up to my face every morning not romantic enough?” he playfully rebutted without looking at me. “No, of course it is,” I squealed a bit too enthusiastically, “but I feel like we’re kind of… vibing? as if we are still friends?”

He put down the remote that was in his hand, turned to me, and said, “do friends vibe like this?” before kissing my neck and reaching for my pants. “I’m serious,” I said, sitting up in bed and yanking his arm away. “When was the last time you planned something? Just – because?” He turned the TV off.

“I don’t know. I guess I figured we don’t need the planned stuff. We already do everything together. We already have this,” he gestured between us.

“That’s not –” I tried to find my words and sighed, “It’s not enough. I need more.”

At the end of the month, he hired a private hibachi chef to come to his backyard and cook for us to celebrate our official two months. He also coordinated a whale-watching cruise because, “it’s the final month for us to do this for the season! We have to!” By the end of November 2018, we were sitting on opposite ends of the sofa, engaging with people online instead of each other.

We tried to gain our spark back, and for New Year’s Eve decided to get ridiculously dressed up and splurge on champagne and caviar for a party for two indoors. He fell asleep before the ball dropped. I drowned myself in bubbly.

On February 14th 2019, we drove back home from dinner in silence. No music, no singing. I was scrolling through my phone, looking at old sketches I had drawn of him over the year. I kept waiting for him to ask what was wrong. Or, even to play one of our songs.

He did neither.

* *

Eventually, I stopped crying and pulled away. His hands wiped the tears from my cheeks, now flushed with embarrassment, and rested on my knee.

Down there, I know our tethers swam together. In perfect harmony. With us? Something always felt out of sync, like we didn’t really know how to cross over from the realm of situationship to real-life lovers. He wasn’t ever going to be the type to leap out of the water and show off and let everyone know he wants me.

His love was steady, but quiet. Reliable, but nonchalant. He’d always be a good time, but the times felt limited. I’d always learn a new whale fact, but I never got closer to learning him.

“I truly am sorry, and you really do deserve more,” he consoled me. “Even though nothing I say right now feels like the proper thing, that much is true. I wish I could be more for you. I’m just not. I have to be okay with that too.”

I know. I smiled and squeezed his hand before moving it off of me.

“Do you think those whales are still together?” I asked him as I stood up, signaling it was time for us to go. “Our tethers?” he said, while joining me and dusting the sand off his body. “Yeah,” I whispered, slipping his hoodie over my head. “Well, probably. Usually, once whales pick their mate, they are kind of locked in,” he said.

We headed towards the parking lot, walking in the sand in unison. A big splash came from behind. “Speak of the devils,” he said while tugging my arm to turn around. There it was: two whales jumping in and out of the ocean, like synchronized swimmers. The full moon glowed on them, seemingly pulling them closer together.

Just like the waves, my emotions rose and settled.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t be more like them,” he said while staring at the whales.

I turned and resumed walking to our car. After a few feet, I looked back and realized he was still there, standing and staring.

I watched him and waited until he felt the hole in the back of his head.

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See what I got into last week (here).

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MOVIES 🎞️

• The End of Oak Street: I saw this on Monday and was surprised by how much fun I had with it. Outside of Jurassic Park, do we even get dinosaur movies anymore? Not sure. But it was also nice to see Anne Hathaway bring back that composed cry she whipped out in The Princess Diaries.

• Scary Movies XIV: Never, and I mean never, have I disliked a film as much as Bodyhackers, which played on Tuesday night of the final week in the “Film at Lincoln” festival. It was so bad that there was a mass exodus before the director Q&A, which followed the screening. I imagine the director felt like Mia Thermopolis.

BOOKS 📚

• I’m still reading: Kitchen Confidential & Yesteryear. Semi-related, Interviewed Yesteryear Author Caro Claire Burke—based on subscriber questions—and I loved how Burke said, “I could’ve spent the rest of my life writing from the perspective of Natalie.” It surely reads that way.

• What I have my eye on: I need to get my hands on Ann Patchett’s The Whistler (contemporary fiction)—about a woman who reunites with the man who used to be her stepfather—and I need to pull “The Wilderness” (Angela Flournoy) off of my shelf, finally, to explore, “five Black women over the course of their twenty-year friendship.”

FOOD 🍽️

• I’ve been eating SO good, y’all: I started the week off strong on Sunday with an unpretentious lunch, and had some of the most unique (and possibly mind-altering?) Cantonese cuisine towards the end of it.

  • BETTY (New American, L.E.S): Tomato season is booming; get their BLT and add an egg; yes, the fries are perfect.

  • Markette (Modern European-Caribbean, Midtown): Chef India Doris is a gal after my own heart with her consistently perfect (seasonal) orzo dishes, but trust… get the lamb.

  • Little Grenjai (Thai-American, BedStuy): The smash burger is indeed worth it, but their “fries” were really the star of the show for me.

  • Bonnie’s (Cantonese American, Williamsburg): I’ll tell you one thing, but I’ll never tell you a lie. Don’t skip this place, ever, if someone recommends it, and get the x.o cheung fun, or don’t go at all.

MUSIC 🎵

• Melatonin (Tinashe): Last week, I realized I forgot to mention I was introduced to this BANGER of a song, and it’s been on repeat since. The Paragons, Mood Rings and Bossa Nova Civic Clubs of the NYC nightlife world are about to go UP.

• PARTYNEXTDOOR (1): I decided to revisit this masterful self-titled debut project from PND, and I just cannot believe how ahead of his time he was with the production. The beats still feel timely, new, and refreshing.

ARTICLES 📄

• I stumbled upon ’s Substack and was eager to try my hand at her Creamy Corn Beans recipe, which I did on Saturday. I really enjoyed trying something new, and I think I will love it even more with some crispy pork or a fatty meat in addition — stay tuned.

• wrote about “The Fine Print of GLP-1s,” and I found it so heartbreaking; I never realized that it is essentially turning “off” our brain in a way that can, ultimately, be counterproductive for the end goal.

BONUS GOODIES 🫙

• APFR: I was gifted these luxurious incense sticks—I love a good smell; my favorite incense is made by Cereria Mollá—that make my apartment smell like a very expensive space to be in. The scent I chose is called “Possess,” which is quite hilarious considering who gifted them to me. It boasts notes of sandalwood, nutmeg, clove, ginger, jasmine, and vanilla.

As always, ‘amanda offline’ is where I experience things IRL first, then share them here second. Let me know in the comments what you’ve been consuming lately.

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Once I washed the soap out, it all became clear: I can inundate you, reader.

Welcome to my new series, “The Weekly Diet,” where I’ll share snippets of things I’ve consumed and digested—from food and products to entertainment and culture—during the week’s time (Sunday - Saturday). If you’re curious about more on the food end, I encourage you to explore my Fork to Paper series.

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MOVIES 🎞️

• The Odyssey: I never read the epic poem, I didn’t have to study this in school and I am not a huge fan of the fantasy genre. And yet, this almost 3-hour film that I sat through last Sunday had me at the edge of my seat and at times breathless. I do wish it was less of a celebrity spotting and that the characters had space/time to convey a bit more emotional depth, though (3.9/5 stars).

• Scary Movies XIV: My friend () recently introduced me to the ‘Film at Lincoln’ Scary Movie Festival, which I’m honestly shocked I’ve never heard of, considering I have a Google spreadsheet cataloging over 400 horror films (and I love a good film festival). I did a double feature on Saturday to see “VEINS” and “Never After Dark.” All I’ll say is: Japanese horror is always going to win.

BOOKS 📚

• Kitchen Confidential: I saw ‘Tony’ last Friday (08.07)—which was enjoyable for all of the reasons Eater’s Bettina Makalintal pens about—and realized I don’t know much about Anthony Bourdain. The movie inspired me to get the audiobook, narrated by Anthony himself. It’s probably one of the easiest audiobooks I’ve ever listened to, and I’m really enjoying learning more about the myth, the man, and the legend.

• Yesteryear: I recently saw Nara Smith’s Call Her Daddy interview, where she tried to convince the audience she is indeed not a tradwife. Anyway, this book has been making me giggle because I wondered if author Caro Claire Burke was at all inspired by Mrs. Smith. I am about halfway through and find it delicious. Easy to digest, and the writing glides like room-temperature Kerrygold butter across freshly toasted bread.

FOOD 🍽️

• Fish Cheeks x Restaurant Week: I’m not a huge fan of or champion for Restaurant Week, but Fish Cheeks gets it right. I went here for a super-belated birthday celebration on Tuesday with a few girlfriends, and we essentially ordered the entire menu, which, as always, did not disappoint. (P.S. has the most insane resource for Restaurant Week, and you have to check it out).

• Grand Street Pizza x Monday Pies: Have you read my piece about the best slice in NYC yet? If so, you’ll know how I feel about Grand Street Pizza. But this was my first time experiencing their ‘Monday Night Special’: thin, crispy, tavern-style bar pies (7pm-close). I actually cannot stop thinking about it and need to go back.

MUSIC 🎵

• The Feeling (Steve Lacey): You ever hear a song that infects you? All of a sudden you’re playing it multiple times a day for an undetermined amount of days? Yeah… This entire album was incredible, but there’s something a little extra in this - I have played it an ungodly amount this week. It’s one of the most sonically perfect songs I’ve ever heard.

• A*Pop: TYLA! The gworl that you are!!! This album is going quadruple platinum in my household (which is not surprising given how many times I rinsed her self-titled debut, and still do). I’ve been revisiting it a lot this week, since it’s a late-July release, and can’t get enough of Kiss.

TV 📺

• Emeril Cooks (Netflix): This is such a wholesome cooking show, where Chef Emeril Lagasse invites special guests (New Orleans-based businesses) to his Louisiana kitchen as he prepares dishes inspired by the product they sell. On Friday, I learned about hot peppers and sauce (episode 23).

• King of Queens (Peacock): I recently got heavily into The Bernie Mac Show—which is incredible television btw—and needed another feel-good sitcom to start from scratch. Both Bernie and KoQ were shows I saw in passing, but never in its entirety. I’ve been having some of the best, deep belly laughs this week and am glad Leah Remini escaped that cult.

ARTICLES 📄

• “what tf is A*POP???” ( ): This likely popped up in my algorithm on Friday because I have been rinsing that Tyla album. It was such an interesting read (both the article and the comments) and begs the question: how long will Tyla be able to avoid direct conversations about race, culture and her art?

• “What I know now about friendship (that I wish I knew in my 30s)” (): Remember that super belated birthday celebration? Those girlfriends, I learned that night, are the few who can get me to laugh so ferociously. So incessently. A lot of the advice in this article reminded me of this group of gals, whom I love so deeply. I’ve been prioritizing friendship a little differently these days, and after reading this I felt really good about the direction I am headed.

BONUS GOODIES 🫙

• Papa Luc’s Provisions: I was fortunate enough to get a sample sauce from this brand before it even launches, but I finished it earlier in the week (love it on my eggs), and I am desperate for more. “The pepper sauce is crafted with scotch bonnet peppers, sour orange, and a signature spice blend. Bright and layered, with depth beyond heat.”

As always, ‘amanda offline’ is where I experience things IRL first, then share them here second. Let me know in the comments what you’ve been consuming lately.

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But the other night, I revisited a restaurant, and it reminded me that I had this article sitting in the drafts. From fork to paper, and now your screen, I hope you enjoy this piece.

Bear in mind that I am not a tortilla or Mexican cuisine expert.

I’m just a fan of eating good food.

I’ve never been a big Mexican cuisine fan. Growing up in The Bronx, if I wasn’t eating at home (yes, there indeed was food in the house), the options were pretty consistent: Chinese takeout, pizza and Italian-American or Dominican food. Mexican wasn’t really part of that rotation, simply because it wasn’t in my neighborhood.

It wasn’t until college that I realized most people had a surface-level affinity for Mexican food. Translation: they enjoyed a good happy hour margarita with chips and guac. Even that didn’t do it for me. The chips were always either too thin and flavorless or too thick and stale. Tortillas were the same. Whenever people raved about tacos, I’d try to understand the appeal, but the tortilla, corn or flour, always felt overwhelming. I was so stuck on how dry, saltless, starchy, or flat they often tasted that the tortilla, meant to be a vessel for the filling, became a distraction instead.

Though low-quality spots were partially to blame, it was largely user error. I had no idea where to go for good Mexican cuisine; therefore, I thought I didn’t like it. Traveling across the boroughs and finding better spots via word of mouth helped, as did being introduced to places by more Mexican friends. A trip to Los Angeles reset my baseline and changed what I was measuring everything else against. It also helped me realize the most important thing.

Mexican food is really fu**ing good — especially when there’s love behind it.

After my first visit to Border Town in Greenpoint back in March 2026, I found a tortilla that blew my mind.

Soft, doughy, perfectly salted—and very similar to Trinidadian roti—this is the type of tortilla you can eat on its own. In fact, the second time I went, I ordered a single tortilla to eat as is (they should serve it on the table like Italian spots do bread).

By this point, I’d already built out a taco rotation, including newer favorites like Carnitas Ramirez and Los Tacos No.1, alongside long-established go-tos like Chavelas and Tacos el Brother Truck. But Border Town is what pushed me to dig a little deeper into my research.

I learned how differently tortillas are made depending on where in Mexico the recipe or tradition comes from, and why flour versus corn is such a hot topic to begin with. I’ve said this before, but everything is political and—shocker—this too goes back to colonialism. In the 1500s, Spanish conquistadores brought wheat flour to Mexico because their monks needed wheat, not corn, for Catholic communion wafers.

Cultivation spread pretty quickly, and Mexico was already producing wheat/flour tortillas in serious quantities by 1534. It grew best in the north, so states like Sonora and Sinaloa leaned into flour tortillas and spent generations perfecting them. Meanwhile, people in southern states like Puebla, Oaxaca, and Guerrero stuck with corn both as a symbol of their Indigenous identity to maintain deeply established traditions and as an act of resistance.

Border Town offers that Sonoran-style tortilla, made by hand every night. What makes these, and this style of tortilla, so addicting and memorable is the simplicity. Only high-quality wheat, lard, salt and water are used. The flour imparts a naturally softer texture, which is then enhanced by the lard, creating a richness and structure you won’t get from oil or shortening. Because there are only four ingredients, the quality of the wheat and lard is crucial. For those who don’t favor corn, these flour tortillas are arguably the best you can get.

Now, if you’re looking for “same, same, but different,” that’s where tortillas from Vato come into play. Unlike traditional Sonoran-style, Vato’s signature is sourdough tortillas, made with whole wheat flour, bread flour and butter instead of lard. Someone recently asked me which I thought was better (between Border Town and Vato), and I instantly said Border Town. Now, I realize they serve different purposes.

The swap for butter creates a more pliable tortilla, and the sourdough gives it a slight twang; it almost feels more like pastry dough than a traditional tortilla. This makes sense, considering Vato is also a bakery, and they’re known for their breakfast burritos.

In a perfect world, Vato can start my day, and Border Town can end it; there’s no need to exclude one for the other.

I’m an equal opportunity tortilla gal, so I do enjoy corn. But, it took me a minute to figure out which corn tortillas I actually like, and even after my research, I realized there are so many different ingredients, techniques and styles we can enjoy. However, the one thing that seemed consistent among all was that it always tastes better when it’s made from fresh nixtamal — whether done on-site or sourced from a supplier. It starts to become less appealing to me when they’re made from masa harina, which is essentially the “just add water pancake mix” of corn tortillas.

Masienda, an LA-based company that works directly with Mexican farmers growing heirloom and native corn varieties, has become something of an industry-standard supplier for U.S. restaurants. Taqueria El Chato and Empellón, for example, source their corn from Masienda, though Empellón prefers a specific variety: olotillo blanco. Both are nixtamalized overnight—boiled and soaked in an alkaline solution like calcium hydroxide, or lime, before being ground to form the dough—then hand-pressed throughout the day for fresh tortillas.

Other places, like Taqueria Ramirez and Añejo Tribeca, source their corn daily from Tortilleria Nixtamal, a dedicated tortillería that’s been producing and bringing fresh nixtamalized masa to NYC since 2008. Having that trusted source and knowing their tortillas will be of quality allows them to pour that extra energy into their fillings instead — whether it’s an entire pig, braised, simmered, and fried in its own fat in giant bubbling cauldrons at Carnitas Ramirez, or slowly braised short ribs at Añejo for the most decadent birria taco.

After eating my way through various flour and corn tortillas—tacos, burritos, chips, all of it—I landed on what I’ve always known: the ones done well are always done by hand, and, more importantly, with love.

Here are 15 spots in NYC that get it right (in alphabetical order).

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But… when did people stop asking each other for their phone numbers?

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Since social media became a strong form of social currency, it’s as though people forgot how to stay connected without their digital crutch. I’m noticing it more frequently since I’ve (one) put myself in more social settings and (two) don’t have Instagram.

The environment may be different, but the scenario plays out the same each time. Whether solo or with company, I chat with someone new, the conversation goes well, and then inevitably: “Do you have Instagram?” I respond no, and that’s pretty much where that social interaction ends.

Then, I move on with full awareness that I’ll probably never speak to this person again unless we somehow bump into each other, because people don’t actually want to connect. I think a part of me has known this for some time but refused to accept it. As a society, we’ve become more interested in a social hub than a real community. We want the sense of connection without the effort required to maintain it.

And I see it play out every time someone asks for my Instagram instead of my number. Having my number would require too much effort long after the initial conversation ends. Following me on Instagram, though, is equivalent to your partner getting you a gift card for your birthday or the holidays. There’s no effort, it’s low stakes and the only intention behind the act is to fulfill the duty that one feels is required of them in the moment.

Connecting with someone via phone (or, hello, even text!) would require remembering what was discussed in person to be able to call back to certain things in the conversation. There’s no social media platform to give you context clues about a person. That’s beyond needing intention; it requires a desire. A desire to actually get to know the person. A desire to maintain the connection even when there is no story bubble or notification to remind you of one’s existence.

It just feels like nobody wants that responsibility anymore.

The longer I am off of social media, the more I crave in-person connections, but the more I am in person, the less available people seem to me – because they’re tethered to the online version of themselves. In the off chance someone does ask for my number, I watch my digits fall into the data landfill, untouched.

There is no follow-up text with the courtesy, “it was great to meet you,” or future conversation that comes from it. It’s just that obligatory gift card to say, “we met in person.”

I sometimes wonder if the onus is on me to keep the conversation going. I am the one, after all, who is choosing not to be on social media. I am the one causing someone to go the extra mile to engage with me in a way that’s not as effortless or integrated in their daily routine. The easier solution for everyone would, of course, be to get back on Instagram. I just know I’m worth the effort it takes to maintain (or create) a connection. So I don’t. And I won’t.

I didn’t keep my “917” number since high school just to not use it.

Somebody better text me, goddammit.

Let’s Catch Up? (06.28.26)

1. I recently got promoted to Account Director, which is a title I had been gunning for since I started working in PR over a decade ago. While it is exactly what I worked so hard for, it has been a learning curve. I keep reminding myself, “you have to be okay with having more.”

2. I think I’m ready to start dating again. I did recently exchange numbers with someone (and, yes, it went in the landfill), but I felt a new sense of inspiration to just talk to new people whenever I can, whether friendly or flirtatious. It’s also probably the whole 16th re-watch of SATC. I won’t be joining any apps (shocker), so am curious to see what happens IRL.

3. I’ve been reading “Good Material” by Dolly Alderton, which got some mixed reviews at my job’s book club. I realized I’ve been leaning more towards slow/mundane types of reads because they have been opening my eyes to certain patterns or experiences I have in my personal life. I’m enjoying this one thus far and am really proud that I have already finished 50% of my book goal this year (follow me on Pagebound).

4. Carrie Bradshaw used her stove/oven for clothing and shoe storage, and while I’m not that level of a fashion girl, I can say I have not been cooking. I’ve mentioned this before, but I am obsessed with Yellow Picnic, and my life has been significantly easier with it.

5. I’m in a really good place, mentally. Despite recurring family woes and an at times overwhelming work life, I’m still really happy with who I am at the end of every day. Whether someone is texting my phone or not.

I knew I shouldn’t have given him the time of day when he sent me that direct message on Twitter, full of lewd comments, without so much as knowing my last name. After making him aware of his misstep, I (mentally) vowed not to speak to him again.

Until I did.

I couldn’t stop thinking about that interaction.

There was something about the way he bulldozed his way to the front of my DM line, a space I didn’t often entertain men. His abrasiveness and complete disregard for any potential consequences somehow found a comfortable seat in the back of my mind.

I needed to know more about him.

A few days after making him walk away with his tail between his legs, I was the one to enter his DMs. I think I asked him something irrelevant about a movie – anything to drum up conversation again. That was the first day of what started an almost five-year [__?__]ship. One that has had quite the hills and valleys; one I probably should have never had in the first place.

He wasn’t the first person to push his way past my guards with certainty, though.

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“TINDY”

There was “Tindy,” who was so bold and ego-driven in a way I hadn’t yet experienced at that point in my life. It was 2016/2017, and I was about 24/25 years old; he was the first and last guy I ever matched on Tinder, hence the nickname. His approach was exactly as I described him: “Hey, let’s skip the small talk and get oysters at this place tonight, 7pm?”

I love a decisive man, so I bit.

I also had never had oysters before at the time, and a man putting me onto something new is my second favorite kink.

I vividly remember our first date. He talked about his ex the entire time, and it was clear that he was still hurt over whatever transpired between them. Surely, I didn’t need to be on this date with him; he just needed someone to vent to. Despite my not thinking twice about him after that night, he was brazen enough to contact me for a second one. Perhaps he was experiencing a different first date than I had been.

Surely I should have ignored him, since I didn’t find the first date worthy of a second, but it was the way he went about it: “Hey. Would love to see you again. Friday, we can meet at my job, I’ll feed you and serve you drinks, then when I’m done with my shift, we’ll go here for a party.”

I really love a decisive man.

I love, even more, a man who knows I’m what they want.

There was a sort of sexiness to that cockiness. It was that fact that he didn’t care. He didn’t care that the first date was a dud. He didn’t care that I very clearly was disinterested – he’d go on to tell me that he felt I gave him a “church hug,” and wanted to change that vibe. Even if he failed the first go around, he seemed confident enough to know how to get it right the second try, or at the very least show me a damned good time.

And, damned good time it was.

He fed me, kept me happy, and the conversation was significantly more stimulating than the initial one. The party was what sealed the deal. It was one of those quintessential NYC rooftop nights. You’re both drinking and dancing, dancing and drinking. The summer air is thick, and the stars feel like tiny disco balls in the sky. You’re lost in the moment, looking everywhere until, like quicksand, you fall into their eyes. You go in for that kiss that pulls you under even quicker. Now, you’re stuck.

Over the years, we’d continue to experience that kind of fun that can only be had with reckless abandon. He was spontaneous, extremely outgoing, goofy, cool and detail-oriented. If I saw his name pop up on my phone, I knew something exciting was already planned for me—keeping my interests, desires, hobbies in mind—and all I had to do was say yes.

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For some reason, I thought it would be a brilliant idea to “get my steps in” and walk from my Flatbush, Brooklyn apartment to Grand Army Plaza in these unbroken Dr. Martens. That’s about a 1.3-mile distance, a 30-minute walk. If you’ve ever purchased a pair of Docs, you know damn well this was the dumbest decision I could have made. In my head, I’ve suffered through worse. How bad could stretching out new leather boots be?

By the time my regrets sank in (just 10 minutes into the walk), I had “come too far” from any train station or bus stop. I convinced myself I had to commit to the uninterrupted mile-long block along Flatbush Avenue, alongside Prospect Park. I winced with each step, slowly feeling the flesh on my Achilles tendon peel, like a hangnail that you ripped too far. But I was determined to get to the rental spot near Grand Army Plaza, so I could pick up my car, which I had reserved for 11 am, and drive upstate to celebrate my younger sister’s 13th birthday.

* * *

Born in 1992, I felt like an only child most of my life, despite having an older sister on my paternal side. I was raised exclusively by my mother, who had me at 19. She and my dad were together for the first four years of my life, but my dad’s alleged “rockstar lifestyle” pushed my mother, who was happy with him, away. We didn’t come from much, but she knew she wanted more - in general, for me, for us.

Perhaps, this jump-started her eternal quest for a better life. Maybe it’s the reason I lived in 10 different apartments, all in the northern area of The Bronx, before the age of 17.

My mother’s mother was an alcoholic. This pushed my mother into a maternal/protective role before entering her double digits – often responsible for taking care of her younger brother, when my grandmother was too inebriated. On her paternal side, her father wasn’t, in her words, always present, and she felt like the “black sheep” of that family (literally and figuratively). At one point, she was faced with two options: live with her alcoholic mother, who had an abusive partner, or live with her father, who was married to a woman who treated his kids like Cinderella. I’m certain any young person would choose the less strict–“do you know where your child is?”–parent, than the one who lets a “new mom” dictate and control his household.

My grandmother would eventually pass away from a heart attack when my mother was 22/23, and my grandfather a couple of decades later, also from heart problems, when my mother was 45. From what I’ve learned, my mother was born into a life of responsibility and grew to find comfort in chaos. She was forced to mature in ways a child shouldn’t have to.

I’m not sure my mother was ever able to truly be a child or teenager before having me. Meaning, she had to grow up with me. She basically had to teach herself how to be an adult, raise a child, and still have a life without losing herself in the process.

I watched her juggle college classes and full-time jobs, collect degrees, take trips with friends, do all the things people in their twenties are “supposed” to do… just with me, a child, around. Her wins were my wins, her highs were my highs. This also meant her losses and lows were mine, too. She was overworked, overtired, and still trying to figure out who she was, which meant there wasn’t much emotional room left for me.

At times, I questioned if her life would have been better had she not chosen to keep me. I still question this.

But, from what I can remember, my life was always a trio: me, my mother, and whichever boyfriend happened to join us at the time.

Once we left my dad behind, it was me, my mother, and Will in that tiny Bronx apartment–the one where the neighbors called the cops because my screams from her whoopings carried through the walls. Although my memories are mostly nonexistent before the age of seven, I can recall sitting on the kitchen counter, getting a reality check from my mother, while the cops waited near the front door: “They’re going to take you away and make you live with a new mommy, and you may never see me again. Is that what you want?”

I was six(ish).

I’d mark that as the official moment when having a voice, a real one, was a luxury I knew I would never be afforded again in her household.

From the ages 8-11, it was me, my mother, and Anthony in my favorite apartment, where I had a huge pink bedroom and a loft bed. That room was my haven; it had everything I needed: my Nintendo 64, a boombox for my Britney Spears and NSYNC albums, cable television, barbie dolls. But, again, her losses and lows were mine. If she had a bad day, I had a bad day – so, I’d try to hide out in my room to minimize my presence, when it seemed to further annoy her. That only worked every so often. If she got into an argument or fight with Anthony, who had struggled with infidelity, I dealt with the repercussions of that mood.

There was even a time I had wrapped up a shower, toweled up, and walked from the bathroom to my bedroom (about 4-5 feet away). She asked me if I was trying to “sleep with her man,” because I was “walking around the house naked.”

I was eleven.

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Transparently, I’m tired of talking about my life, myself, what’s working, what’s not working. What could be better, or how far I’ve come. Tired of giving space and time to my parental issues, random triggers, disappointing family members, childhood traumas that continuously spill into my adult life.

This post had been sitting in the drafts for a while (because I was even tired of writing about this), until I saw this note:

I show up to each session and feel like I’m bitching about the same things, and I’m just tired of it, I told my therapist. I’m bored by it at this point. I need something else to talk about or work on.

“What would it look like for you to not need to produce something in these sessions?” she asked after giving me the space to rant, even though I swore I had nothing to talk about.

I could feel those wheels in my brain spinning quickly, then abruptly coming to a grinding halt. I didn’t know how to process that question. I’ve always had to produce something — or solve something. What did she mean by “what would it look like for you to not…’?

I’d be dead, I sarcastically responded.

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I don’t think she liked that answer very much, based on her face scrunching and eyebrows turning inwards, like a Tim Burton character.

I spent most of my life planning for, preparing for, anticipating, thinking about something — it wasn’t until this session that I realized I have been in fight (and sometimes flight) for so long. Whether it was being a child forced to mature too quickly, or a desperate girl from the Bronx trying to climb the corporate ladder to avoid stigmas, or even this version of me now fighting to break generational curses… I’ve always been producing something.

Now that I have cultivated spaces—mentally, physically, financially and energetically—for myself that feel safe, I can take a break. I just have no idea what taking a break looks like, feels like, or should be like.

Similar to me quitting Spotify or social media, my body and mind keep going back to a space (or version of me) that no longer exists; looking around an empty house, like Will Smith in the last episode of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Each time I heal a new part of myself, it becomes harder and harder to revisit what once was — because I don’t recognize it anymore. I don’t know what to do with that. I also don’t want to be back there.

And, this has been manifesting a lot in my relationships — with family, friends, romantic situations.

I thought I’d be able to go to therapy, address old traumas and wounds, put certain relationships on pause and then revisit everything when I felt healed. But, the more I heal, the more I grow. The more I grow, the less I know how to navigate certain dynamics. The less I know how to navigate (you guessed it), the less I want said dynamics.

I revisit old connections and feel lost. It feels shallow.

I was operating through a rose-colored lens I no longer have access to, so things look a little different now.

Clearer.

I am unable to conform or flex in the same ways I once could. I’m disinterested in addressing what once was, simply because I’m more focused on what it actually is. Now.

More importantly, I’m no longer willing to expend as much energy unless I know I’ll receive something adequate in return.

“You’re going through an emotional detox, right now,” she suggested.

Whatever version of me that existed even just one year ago is no longer within my reach. And yet, there is still so much work I have left to do. In fact, the work will never stop. But, I don’t always have to produce something in real time. It is indeed okay to take a break from all that self growth because there is no finish line.

It was naive of me to think there would be a checkpoint, where I’d collect some golden star and be able to resume whatever I had paused at the start of my journey. That, I’d be able to reunite with certain dynamics and pick up right where we left off. We left off for a reason.

Hindsight is always 20/20.

All I can do now is continue the work. But, instead of focusing on how much better I can be, I think I need to take a step back and focus on what it can look like if I just started living… now? As is.

What would it look like for me to not need to produce something all the damn time?**

*Yet another entry/excerpt from the journal.

**We’ll “catch up” another time.

Despite this word being overused over the last five years, this is truly unprecedented.

You don’t need me to tell you that many U.S. hospitality workers—from dishwashers and barbacks to bartenders and servers—are immigrants or come from a lineage of people risking their lives to pave a better future for the next generation. You shouldn’t need me to tell you that just because someone is an immigrant does not automatically mean they are undocumented, nor does it make them a threat to this country.

But perhaps your awareness needs raising: your post-workout coffee, catch-up lunch, friends’ dinner, after-work happy hour, first-date drinks—none of this exists outside of politics.

It never has.

And in this moment, pretending otherwise is a luxury most people in this industry don’t have.

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Against this backdrop of fear, mutual aid, and survival, the industry is also moving through a moment of long-overdue recognition.

We’re seeing positive shifts in which restaurants and chefs are being nominated for awards, reflecting the talent and cultural depth that have always existed. NY-based Chefs like Giovanni Cervantes (Carnitas Ramirez), Paul Carmichael (Kabawa), Rasheeda Purdie (Ramen by Ra), Chakriya “Cha” Un (BONG) and Kwame Onwuachi (Tatiana), to name a few, are being celebrated not just for what’s on the plate, but for the worlds they’ve built around it.

But what may be a buzzy new restaurant or must-have reservation for diners could very well have been a challenging, and even life-threatening, journey for the people behind the scenes.

A Khmer Dinner with Bun Cheam

“I was born in Cambodia, but fled to Thailand when I was four years old, where I lived in a refugee camp for a couple of years before officially moving to Pennsylvania, where I grew up. Eventually, I made my way to Baltimore, where I went to culinary school,” Chef Bun Cheam shared with the 16 guests who purchased tickets for “A Khmer Dinner with Bun Cheam.”

This six-course Cambodian tasting menu, served family-style, was designed as a sneak peek into what will become the menu at Hōp (which means “to eat” in Khmer). Until now, the concept has operated as a pop-up at Runner Up in Park Slope, Brooklyn; however, by late summer/early fall 2026, Cheam will find a permanent home for his Khmer restaurant and cocktail bar in Red Hook, Brooklyn.

“All of the dishes that I’ve prepared for you tonight are special to me. I’ve cooked all over. I’ve cooked French food, Chinese food, all types of food, but being able to share Cambodian food is special.”

Cheam’s family fled Cambodia, which was under communist leadership, during one of the worst mass killings in the country (between 1975-1979). Millions were killed or displaced, and permanently separated from their families. Millions more risked their lives to try and escape, though only some were lucky enough to make it out unscathed. The goal for the Cheam family? Make it to Thailand, obtain the necessary documents, and then move to the United States. (Learn more about Chef Cheam’s journey to America in this piece written by Marguerite Imbert.)

This story is, sadly, not unique and is the case for many immigrants. Chakriya “Cha” Un, chef and owner of BONG, shared via Instagram:

Because this experience is nearly universal for immigrants arriving in the U.S., many, Cheam included, find comfort in sharing their culture through cuisine. Often, to preserve ancestral memory or honor those who paved the way before them, immigrants (and children of) find a voice that may have once been stolen or silenced — enveloped in a decades-old broth recipe, or mashed into a paste that serves as the base for most dishes in their culture. For them, this type of preservation and respect begins first in the mind and then takes shape in the kitchen.

In Cambodian cooking, that memory might live in something like kreung/kroeung—a deeply aromatic paste of pounded herbs, roots, and spices that forms the backbone of countless dishes. The recipe is not written down so much as absorbed, learned through smell and repetition.

“I bleed this,” Cheam exclaimed. “This was one of those things that—if my grandmother ever asked me to help her make it—I knew I would be pounding (with mortar and pestle) in the kitchen forever. Usually, when I would ask if I was done, she would say: when you think you’re done, pound it 100 more times. Now, I use a blender, but it’s still important for all of my dishes.”

Several of the tasting menu items featured this paste, whether straightforward or a variation of it, such as the green version in the Nom Banchok Somlaw Khmer, which Cheam seemed to take most pride in. The stock recipe—traditionally made from snakehead (a type of river bass) or mud skippers—is a recipe passed down through generations within his family. As a child, if Cheam smelt the funky, pungent aroma of fish wafting through the house, he knew guests would be coming over later that day.

Nom Banchok was made for the community.

Beyond this vermicelli rice noodle dish being specific to Cambodia—known as the rice basket of Southeast Asia with fields irrigated by winding rivers that sustain both grain and fish—Cheam’s Nom Banchok Somlaw Khmer hits close to the heart.

“My grandmother used to sell this in the streets, carrying a large pole on her shoulders. On one side would be bags of noodles and the accoutrements, on the other side would be bags of the broth. People would know to come outside with their bowls because she would yell NOM BANCHOK. She would serve them on the spot and keep moving to help feed the community. Today, I share my version of this dish with you.”

In sharing this dish, Cheam was honoring his family history and transforming a memory into something that still feeds a community — just like his grandmother, only in a different time and place. In moments of silence broken only by the sound of slurping, it was clear that all 16 of us at that table experienced something special. Some, Cambodians themselves, felt like they had a piece of “home” with them in that moment. Others, like myself, were reminded of how important it is for traditions to be passed down this way.

Cheam effortlessly showcased how culture can survive displacement: not through preservation alone, but through making damned good dishes that honor the legacy of those who came before him.

“You know, Cambodian food can be polarizing. It’s stinky, funky, and not so familiar to everyone, but I hope to help normalize it. I want to get Cambodian food on Seamless!” Cheam exclaimed.

Culture Transcends Time and Space

Culture moves with people — just like Bad Bunny making history by winning the 2026 GRAMMY for ‘Album of the Year’ (“DeBÍ TiRAR MáS FOToS” is now the first Spanish-language album to win in this category). It moves across borders, through exile, beyond fear and pain, especially when people choose to show up and speak out in spite of their circumstances.

Culture remains intact—particularly through cuisine—when chefs bring together what they know by heart with the modern practices they’ve learned along the way. It shows up in how food is seasoned, how it’s shared, and, most importantly, in how it gathers people together.

For immigrants, especially those forced to leave under threat or violence, and their children, cooking becomes an act of resistance. Pastes and sauces—like kreung for Cambodians, sofrito for Puerto Ricans, red sauce for Italian Americans—and “struggle meals” (like soups, stews, and bean dishes) function as a living archive, carrying history and culture forward.

We’re not just talking about recipes here. For many, these dishes were survival tools—born from the necessity of feeding large families with limited ingredients and resources. These dishes are high-volume and low-cost by design, whether that be arroz con habichuelas, spaghetti and meat sauce, pozole, feijoada or even chili.

When award-recognized (or buzzy) chefs choose to place dishes like Nom Banchok (HŌP), Cassava Dumplings (Kabawa), or Brown Stew Chicken (Tatiana) on their menus—drawing directly from their own cultures—it becomes a subtle yet powerful act of resilience.

It’s a quiet refusal to let their culture be extracted, diluted, or repackaged for someone else’s gain. In reclaiming these dishes on their own terms, chefs are honoring their histories and asserting visibility—placing a long-overdue spotlight on the difference between cultural preservation and cultural exploitation (think Kendrick Lamar versus Drake).

And this reclamation isn’t just happening in established kitchens. Across New York, pop-ups have become a crucial space for chefs to take back control. What once felt like a stepping stone has become a legitimate model — one that allows chefs to bypass traditional gatekeepers, avoid the compromises that come with investors, and build something on their own terms. Pop-ups offer flexibility, yes, but more than that, they offer power. The power to decide what gets cooked, how it’s presented, and who it’s for. There’s no pressure to dilute flavors or sanitize stories for a broader audience.

“I got into cooking long before I ever thought of it as a career or a “concept.” It started at home, through necessity mostly,” said Chef Tamarindo of Papi Tropical. “[I understood] early on that food was how care, survival, and culture were expressed. […] I grew up in a seven-person household in Brooklyn, where everyone cooked or helped prep in some way. Food was constant and something that required collaboration and patience.”

Tamarindo is a Brooklyn-born and -based chef with Caribbean and Manabí roots, most known for his food pop-ups (previously tasted at Commune, Frog Wine Bar and the late Bar Meridian). Raised on Dominican and Ecuadorian cooking—known to be layered, deeply seasoned, and built slowly over time—his approach to food is shaped by patience, presence, and respect for process. Today, that upbringing informs not just what he cooks, but how he cooks: viewing food as collective work rather than individual expression. His pop-ups are designed as spaces for gathering and lingering, rooted in nourishment, togetherness, and care.

His cooking is an extension of culture, storytelling, joy, and—most importantly—resistance.

“I didn’t want to open a traditional restaurant or replicate the same hierarchies that burn people out. […] Pop-ups allow me to move intentionally, while staying flexible and rooted in community spaces. They became a way to share food without stripping it of context, to feed people while also asking them to reflect on where food comes from, who cooks it, and under what conditions,” he added.

In a city where restaurant ownership has historically favored those with capital over those with culture, pop-ups are quietly shifting the landscape. (P.S. I find out about a lot of food pop-ups via 8it.)

“There’s a strong sense of mutual respect within the underground NYC pop-up community,” Tamarindo says. “Many of us are hustling, grinding, and creating outside of traditional restaurant structures, and there’s a deep appreciation for each other’s craft. What I love most about this space is that it doesn’t feel competitive. It feels collective. We show up for one another, we support each other’s work, and we understand that there’s room for all of us.”

Everything is political, especially your food.

Now, there may still be some of you questioning: but, what does this have to do with politics? Or, maybe you’re like the blonde actress from Euphoria who has “never been here to talk about politics.” You just want to eat.

But, food has always been political.

Who gets to cook professionally, who gets to own restaurants, whose cuisine is celebrated versus dismissed, or even questioned when “too costly for that,” — which I lightly touch on in my Kabawa review.

These aren’t accidents. This is a result of systems that determine who has access.

When immigrants are forced to flee their homes due to violence, war, or political instability, the recipes they carry with them instantly become more than just a dish. It goes from “wow, this was a really good meal,” to, “yeah, this kept my family alive,” really quickly.

The fact that kreung or sofrito exists in diasporic kitchens today is political. The fact that Cambodian refugees had to rebuild their lives and their food culture in a country that largely displaced them is political. The fact that chefs operate pop-ups instead of opening brick-and-mortar restaurants—not always by choice, but because the traditional restaurant model requires access to loans, investors, and generational wealth that many immigrant and first-generation chefs don’t have—is political. The fact that soul food, born from enslavement and sustained through segregation, took centuries to be acknowledged as a cuisine worthy of white tablecloths is political. The very act of some restaurants not being able to close on January 30th—because they are a small business and have families & staff to “feed”—is political.

Even the ingredients themselves are political.

What’s affordable, what’s imported, what’s taxed, what’s subsidized, which NYC communities have access to fresh produce (think Chelsea, Park Slope or Williamsburg) versus the ones living in food deserts (think South Bronx, East Harlem, Brownsville) — all of it traces back to policy decisions and economic structures that were designed long before any of us sat down to eat.

And when chefs reclaim their food, put it on menus unapologetically, charge what it’s worth, and refuse to dilute it for mass appeal?

That’s political.

It’s saying: this food matters, we matter, and we’re not asking for permission anymore. So yes, food is political. It always has been.

The question for me isn’t whether food and politics are connected — what I’m curious about for you, the reader, is whether or not you’re willing to see it. In a world full of Starbucks, Erewhon and Meadow Lanes, you can choose where you spend your money. Every dollar is a vote, saying, “yes, we want more of this here.”

Every meal is a statement.

So, what politics will you be supporting?

Puglia: the “heel of the boot”, Southern Italy. That’s where I was for my first-ever international work trip in Fall 2018.

I remember a lot from that experience: the friendly people, falling in love with Italian food, and making my own orecchiette pasta. I remember holding black truffles in my hand, and having my taste buds completely blown away; visiting vineyards for the first time in my life, tasting delicious wines with professionals.

And—worst of all—I remember breaking up with my boyfriend via text while in a different time zone.

So silly.

This work trip was undoubtedly one of the most inspiring and impactful experiences. It showed me a different world, another way of understanding, a new way of being. It taught me the true impact of public relations and how journalists and publicists come together to share meaningful stories. It also helped me see that I am deserving of these opportunities.

Most importantly, the trip taught me that I shouldn’t settle for less when I am worth so much more.

It wasn’t my first time out of the country, but it was my first all-expenses-paid trip that took me into a part of the food & wine world I had yet to explore. It was unforgettable. If I close my eyes tight enough, I can still smell the trip — salty air, cured meats, fermented grape juice, minerally soil, Ouidad’s curl quencher haircare line.

Baked into the trip’s itinerary of tastings in the vineyards, lunches and dinners, and activities in the town was a time slot for the showers to cry in. Sometimes, when I use that specific line from Ouidad today, I can mentally teleport myself back to Masseria Bagnara Resort & Spa, where the stone walls of my room held my pain.

The delicate scent of cucumber and melon puts me right in that shower, under the waterfall I’d borderline drown myself in - always with the lights off. I’d work my way through 6LACK’s ‘East Atlanta Love Letter’ album, which had just released right before my trip, and I’d pretend that washing my hair was also washing away what no longer served me.

6LACK’s “Disconnect” stayed on loop for the majority of these showers. Not because I pressed the automatic loop button, but because I would manually keep replaying the song. And, I’d cry harder with each rewind.

So, so silly.

I felt incredibly foolish — being in one of the coolest parts of Italy, having a life-changing experience, proving that I was indeed the professional I thought I could be, all while worrying about the fact that my then-boyfriend wasn’t texting me back.

The more the song played, the more I thought: I need to break up with him.

This wouldn’t be the first time we’d break up, but it would be the first time I somehow felt both irrelevant and superior to him. I would send status updates—photos & excited texts, eager to share what I was doing out there—and I’d be lucky if I got as much as a full sentence response.

At the time, I believed he was probably thrilled that I was in a different time zone. Less opportunity for me to wonder whether or not he was cheating, thus fewer chances to bother him via text. Parts of me also wondered if he had secret (subconscious) jealousy or animosity towards me — having this experience that he’d likely never get. I think other parts of me always knew I’d eventually outgrow him or “leave him behind,” too.

When I confronted him about his lack of enthusiasm and replies, he said, “you should be out there living your life and enjoying your trip, not worrying about me.” I read this text in the back seat of a commuter van with the four other women I was with. The lump in my throat immediately dropped into the pit of my stomach —my pain sloshing around with wine and carbs.

That pain left a stain on my trip, like oil on a silk shirt. Though still beautiful, the memory has a permanent mark.

So, so, so, silly.

I could have been texting family or friends, who enjoyed being included in such monumental parts of both my career and life, and also relished the chance to live vicariously through me.

I kept choosing him.

While staring at the blinking cursor in my iMessage box, not knowing what to even say back, the other four ladies shared stories about their significant others. The consensus was that multiple daily check-ins were the norm for them.

I hesitantly shared my concerns about my then-boyfriend not being particularly responsive, and they called a flag on the play almost immediately. I didn’t want their permission—and I definitely didn’t want the shame that followed me for the duration of the trip—but I guess I wanted reassurance. I needed to know I wasn’t crazy for feeling sad, confused, conflicted, lonely that he did not want to talk to me.

I had known for some time he wasn’t right for me – I just couldn’t figure out accept the “why” (lying, cheating, manipulating, empty promises, lack of motivation, etc.). I usually ended up staying or going back. Staying, but promising myself I’d never be back. Always ending up right back with him.

So, so, so, SO silly.

The shame this go around, though, was too much. So, I broke up with him via a lengthy text that was probably met with some apologies or no real effort to encourage me to stay. And, I say probably because I blocked a lot of the details from that memory out of my mind, right after I blocked his phone number.

I’ll never not feel that tightness in my chest when I smell the Ouidad curl quencher line, or when I hear that 6LACK song that holds the pain I buried within each melody.

When I think of Puglia, Italy, I’ll still think of food, wine, and culture, just with a bit of love and loss.

And, that’s okay. I need that reminder of how silly I was. Because, even if I’m not like Lauren from ‘The Hills’ (MTV)—who chose to stay with her boyfriend in California instead of going to Paris for a work opportunity—I am Amanda: the girl who was more concerned about what her boyfriend was/wasn’t doing rather than mentally immersing herself in a once-in-a-lifetime trip.

I know I’m being hard on myself, and I could give 26-year-old Amanda a bit more grace. It’s just important that I never forget that stain on the silk shirt.

This way, I never allow myself to get that lost in what doesn’t truly matter, ever again.

Borderline unbearable pain.

The day before, I decided I was the Incredible Hulk and did 20 assisted pull-ups in perfect form right after running an 11-minute mile.

I don’t run. I don’t do pull-ups.

Toward the end of 2025, I’d been flirting with the idea of making quarterly wellness visits a thing in the new year: facials, massages, beauty appointments. I’m a pretty basic and simple girl. Outside of my expensive gym membership, books and movies, and dining, I don’t really spend my money on much else.

So what better time to finally look into a massage than when I could barely unfold my arm into a straight line? After scrolling through Reddit threads comparing prices, I thought, damn, if I had a boyfriend, I could get a massage for free.

And down I went, straight into the rabbit hole that is my own mind.

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Because it was true. Fortunately, and unfortunately, most of my previous partners were really good at giving massages. One of my exes actually studied to be a masseuse and had his own table. My most recent learned the art of “karate chopping” my body after workouts to increase blood flow, break up knots, flush out lactic acid, etc. I may have been sore—borderline unbearable pain—but I had someone who would’ve helped me for free.

The deeper I spiraled, the more I started listing all the things I’d “save” on if I weren’t single and didn’t live alone.

• Rent

• Utilities

• Groceries

• Household stuff

• Date nights

• Home decor

• Streaming services

• Activities

• Travel

You know, simple things. (Which are not simple at all when you have NYC bills and taxes. The kind that charges you $100 just for stepping outside your apartment door.)

The more I built out my list, the more I thoughtabout people I know with roommates. Or partners. Or parents still helping them out. People who can financially lean on someone else. I can’t lie — it felt a little soul-crushing to realize:

I’m really out here doing all of this by myself.

No roommate to split rent with. No parent to live with. No one to bail me out. No partner to go halfsies — not on a date, not on a bill, not on a vacation. Nobody but me.

Goddamn, being single is expensive.

The more painful part is that I don’t even know how I would let someone help me without feeling like a burden. All I’ve ever known is how to manage myself. My emotions, to stay controlled and poised in any high-stress situation; my thoughts, to avoid a scarcity mindset; my actions, to push myself out of victimhood.

There was never really room for me to fail.

I didn’t even feel allowed to get a B in school. So now, in adulthood, doing everything for myself and by myself feels… normal.

Still. Damn.

Being single is expensive.

After letting myself wallow in pity for a bit, because it’s good for the soul, I realized my apartment was silent. Correction: my two-bedroom, 887-square-foot apartment for a party of one was silent. Filled only with the sounds, smells, and light I choose to let in.

And that silence? That’s what I’ve been looking forward to more and more lately — especially after dates.

Earlier, I said I’d “save” on dates if I weren’t single, and that’s not entirely true. I’ve been going on dates. And I haven’t been paying for them.

Financially.

But I am paying in time. In physical energy. And most of all, in mental energy.

Coming home to silence has taught me something important: my time and energy might be more precious to me than any dollar amount. I like my brain cells. It feels like a waste to spend them on understimulating, uninspiring moments I don’t need to be in.

Because, again, I don’t have anyone but myself funding most of my life. Which means I don’t need a date to get what I want. So if I’m picking out an outfit, doing my hair, doing my makeup, commuting to dinner, and offering up my time and attention (?!), the bare minimum is mental stimulation.

You don’t have to worry about me using you. I don’t need you to eat dinner today, babes.

That’s what I wish I could tell men.

And yet, every time I end up on one of these free but uninspiring dates, I leave feeling like I’ve lost far more than if I had just split the bill during a “fine” date.

I lose time in my apartment — the one I pay for alone. I lose the taxi fare I called just to escape the energy-sucking vortex I wandered into. I lose doses of my energy from that day, and I can’t get it back. Sometimes, when the date is really bad, I even lose a few brain cells.

It costs me far too much to settle for a date, I’ve learned. So honestly, I’m almost always just going to choose to pay for the dinner. For myself, by myself.

I’d rather be an expensive single girl than someone who frivolously gives away her time and energy just to avoid being alone. Time is the one currency I don’t get refunded. Energy is the one thing I can’t earn back.

Being single is expensive. I still stand by that.

But, I’m worth far too much to spend my time or energy on something that doesn’t feed me beyond the plate that’s in front of me.

-

P.S. the massage wasn’t the best I had, but it inspired this piece — so I wouldn’t say it was a complete waste of my money, time or energy.

Let’s Catch Up? 01.20.26

1. It’s been a minute; happy new year. I don’t know that I had any lofty goals for 2026 because I entered it pretty peacefully (stayed at home, getting my rent’s worth!). But, in addition to wanting to do more beauty rituals, I also aim to read 24 books this year; I’m already starting my fourth one, today. Follow me on Pagebound, if you’re looking for a fun, dynamic, less morally-conflicting platform than Goodreads.

2. I’ve been questioned by a few people about the restaurants on my 2026 hit list, and it made me realize how quickly we move on; how, we’re always looking for the next best thing or something to top an already great experience. Anyway, I’m still geeked over the 40 restaurants I shared from last year (can’t wait to revisit BONG at the end of the month).

3. I do, however, have a restaurant prediction for 2026: I think we’re going to see a lot more chef collaborations, pop-ups, guest shifts, etc. from the underdogs. Very excited to see what happens in NYC, this year.

4. I also look forward to maximizing my gym membership (Life Time) more this year. Maybe I’ll become a runner? Maybe a swimmer. Maybe I’ll just be better about using the spa amenities… Either way, we’re really locking in this year — and, I am allowed to bring up to 4 guests per month, wink wink.

5. I saw an article that questioned whether or not going to the movies was cool again (and if we have Gen Z to thank for that.) What I will say is: I am a proud AMC A-Lister and adore my membership. I go to the movies pretty much weekly and can see whatever I want, whenever I want. It’s the most cost-effective way for any cinephile to tap in. I 10/10 recommend; you can also follow me on Letterboxd if you’re into that.

I constantly monitored “top lists” from websites like Eater, The New York Times, Resy, and Infatuation, and I followed chefs, foodies, journalists, and other culinary experts on Instagram. I also allowed my inner circle to introduce me to new things they were excited about. I was basically always “in the know” in a way I hadn’t been before.

I love food. I love exploring culture through cuisine. And most of all, I love being from one of the greatest food cities in the world. I explored everything from Southeast Asian, Caribbean and Latin American to Korean, Greek and Italian. Each spot brought something authentic and memorable to my table.

This is for all of the folks who constantly ask: “Amanda, where should I go to eat?” In the same way all of the other food lists helped me discover new things, I hope my top 40 list helps you.

*The top 40 list further below is in alphabetical order, but there were some clear standouts ✨

1. BONG (Cambodian)

2. BunNan (Haitain)

3. Carnitas Ramirez (Mexican)

4. Fish Cheeks (Southern Thai)

5. Hellbender (Mexican-American)

6. Kabawa (Pan-Carribean)

7. Naks (Filipino)

8. Nubiani (Korean)

9. Rubirosa (Italian)

10. Ume (Japanese)

1. Anything Bar (PLG, Brooklyn)

• The Bite: The Shrimp Basket — Chunky, juicy, perfectly breaded shrimps (the breading didn’t fall off of them) danced in my mouth alongside the homemade tartar sauce brightened with fresh dill. I let out a loud “HELL YEAH” after the first bite.

• The Why: If you’re near/from the “Prospect Lefferts Garden” neighborhood in Brooklyn, you know this place has gone through quite a few name changes. One thing that remained consistent was its offering to the community: an unpretentious and casual bar with down-to-earth, delicious bites. Sadly, they are closing their doors in 2025.

2. Atithi Indian Cuisine (Williamsburg, Brooklyn)

• The Bite: Chicken Saag — This was a spicy, yet comforting dish that left a lasting impression on me since the summer. The chicken is tender and cooked in a creamy spinach sauce that’s well-spiced—full of flavor but not too heavy. It even tasted delicious cold, the next morning.

• The Why: I was looking for an Indian restaurant to take my cousin, who lives out of town, to. This one kept popping up as “#1”, so I decided to take a chance, and I’m so glad I did. They offer a a 3-Course Prix Fixe Menu for $29.99 that gets you an appetizer, entree and dessert. Insane.

3. Bangkok Boulevard (Windsor Terrace, Brooklyn)

• The Bite: Kra-prow Moo krob with fried egg — Crispy pork belly that’s crunchy on the outside and juicy underneath, tossed with fragrant basil, sweet onion, bell pepper, and just enough chili heat. The fried egg on top brings the whole dish together in a really decadent way.

• The Why: I initially ordered takeout here on a whim, because I was desperately craving fried pork belly and rice. Bangkok Boulevard is relatively affordable, not too far (quicker delivery), and offers a lot of delicious items. Considering I have never actually visited this place in person, it’s quite the accomplishment to make it on my top 40 bites of 2025 list.

4. Berimbau (West Village, Manhattan)

• The Bite: FEIJOADA — A hearty stew made with tender black beans that absorbed a lot of flavor from the smoked, dried, and salted cuts of meat (pork and beef). The collard greens and farofa gave a nice crunch. I’m big on crunchy texture.

• The Why: Berimbau had been on my radar for a few years, since it is known for traditional Brazilian cuisine. The Feijoada is known as Brazil’s national dish, and I love black beans (Puerto Rican and Cuban), so this was a no-brainer.

5. The Bobbed Bandit (PLG, Brooklyn)

• The Bite: Fish & Chips — This might be a little controversial, because I never had the same fish and chips twice at Bobbed Bandit. Some days it skewed too salty, other days a bit greasy - but when it was good, it was really good. Unlike the usual versions that let the cod do the talking, the batter here was actually seasoned: garlic, onion, black pepper coming through in a way that felt intentional (and familiar). The shoestring fries always hit, too.

• The Why: I’m really leaning into having a go-to neighborhood spot (no frills, just fun). The Bobbed Bandit is that place you can hit any day of the week, with anyone or on your own: to eat, drink, read, work, or just exist among locals.

6. BONG (Crown Heights, Brooklyn) ✨

• The Bite: Mama Kim’s lobster — Big (!!), sweet chunks of lobster tossed in a savory, slightly spicy sauce that would be disrespected if you didn’t scoop it up with the coconut rice buried underneath. It’s boldly flavorful, unlike anything I’ve tasted before. I don’t think I said a single word while cracking each claw, fully locked in on the next bite.

• The Why: I already wrote about BONG for my Feast of Seven Fishes, but I had to call out the lobster because this may be the top 3 restaurants of 2025 for me. Every single dish hits. Chefs Chakriya Un and Alexander Chaparro know ball.

7. Boro Brine (Williamsburg, Brooklyn)

• The Bite: Lobster Pot Pie — Non-traditional, this pot pie relies on a puff pastry-like dough that makes it buttery and flaky (positive!). That buttery crunch balances the sweet lobster, much like a classic Connecticut lobster roll, while the Kurobuta sausage brings a savory depth that, pleasantly, caught me by surprise.

• The Why: I’ve mentioned Boro Brine before, but it’s a new spot that opened this year—one I happened to discover through TikTok—and it blends the traditional structure of an omakase counter with a more modern approach. It already feels inclusive and welcoming, and once the menu and flavors settle into a better balance, it has a lot of promise.

8. BunNan (Flatbush, Brooklyn) ✨

• The Bite: Griot Bunnan Boat — Another takeout order, this has not left my mind since. The bunnan (sweet plantain) was ripe, which played well with the salty-sweet griot (fried pork). The caramelized onions, red cabbage slaw, pikliz, and sauce added the right amount of heat, tang, and crunch - turning something simple into a top 40 bite.

• The Why: I love pork, and my previous partner (who is Haitian) wanted to introduce me to something he thought I’d really enjoy. He was absolutely correct, and I’d recommend BunNan to anyone interested in listening to me.

9. Carnitas Ramirez (LES, Manhattan) ✨

• The Bite: Carnudo (Fried Pork Belly) & Oreja (Pig Ear) Tacos — Every cut of pork here is seasoned and cooked to perfection, showing you can get maximum flavor even while playing with texture. The carnudo melts in your mouth while still packing an insane crunch, while the oreja offers a softer, chewier bite. I also recommend the “Surtida” taco—if you’re really into exploring—which blends a bit of every part of the pig,

• The Why: I’ve been to Carnitas Ramirez more times than I can count since they opened in 2024. Every time, no matter which cut of pork I pick, I’m guaranteed a killer set of tacos that will shut me right up. Nobody’s doing it better in NYC than Tania Apolinar and Giovanni Cervantes, right now (they also own the original/sister spot Taqueria Ramirez).

10. Chalong (Hell’s Kitchen, Manhattan)

• The Bite: Seafood Platod — Fish so nice, I had to write about it twice. The deboned, fried whole fish was doused in sweet fish sauce and topped with fried garlic & julienne scallions for a fun twist that was lip-smacking, finger-licking good. I paired it with southern-style pad thai, which was phenomenal.

• The Why: One of my favorite mentees strongly recommended this place for delicious southern Thai, and she was not wrong. Chef Nate Limwong clearly has a strong handle on seafood and flavor, and I look forward to exploring their talent more in 2026, starting with their newest restaurant Godunk.

11. Chatti (Midtown, Manhattan)

• The Bite(s): Almost every bite at Chatti was memorable, and many of the “touchings” on the menu are worth a Midtown visit. The Trivandrum Chicken Fry was darkly spiced and aromatic, the Cochin Calamari light, crispy and citrusy, and the Calicut Mussels briny but in a coconut-forward masala. The Kerala Parotta and Malabar Fried Bread tied everything together with their flaky, golden vibe, meant for soaking up all the goodness from the other dishes.

• The Why: Transparently, this was a work/media lunch with a friend in the industry, but I wasn’t expecting to enjoy every single bite enough for it to land in my top 40 of 2025. Chatti focuses on Kerala-style South Indian coastal food, which I had never tried before, so it was nice to explore a new cuisine!

12. Dim Sum Go Go (Chinatown, Manhattan)

• The Bite: Pan Fried Noodles (vegetable) — All the dumplings here are A1, but the must-order is the pan-fried noodles. If you’ve ever snacked on uncooked Maruchan ramen while waiting for the rest to boil, this dish will hit. The sauce is light, coating the noodles just enough to highlight the vegetables and that satisfying crispy-chewy rice noodle crunch.

• The Why: I have been coming to this spot since 2018, and it delivers outstanding, fresh, affordable food each time. It’s a straightforward, unfussy and food-first type of spot, just the way I like it. I almost didn’t add it… yes, to gatekeep.

13. EJ’s Luncheonette (Upper East Side, Manhattan)

• The Bite: Chicken Tenders — I’d like to consider myself a chicken tender aficionado, and EJ’s serves some of the best in NYC. Perfectly seasoned and fried to a deep golden (panko) crunch, the fresh, handmade tenders stay juicy inside and never feel too greasy. I always pair mine with a stack of pancakes, too (because I’m not a waffle girl). Their honey mustard is also a stunner.

• The Why: I originally discovered EJ’s a couple of years back, when I was visiting the Museum of the City of New York (the best!) and researching places to eat relatively nearby in the area. I love a good diner - it’s nostalgic for me, especially when I’m in Manhattan. EJ’s came up highly rated, and I totally understand why; it’s exactly why I go back any time I’m in the area.

14. Elias Corner (Astoria, Queens)

• The Bite: Fried Calamari — I’ve written about the grilled branzino (which was fab), but the fried calamari was easily some of the best calamari I had all year. It was lightly (!) battered, letting the actual squid shine—I hate when it’s more breading than meat—and was crisp enough (think oven fried), where it didn’t feel too heavy or chewy. As someone who will almost always eat calamari, even if it’s not great, this one is absolutely S-Tier.

• The Why: Elias Corner is simple and no-frills, with a cozy, mom-and-pop vibe. My ‘wife’ and I both love seafood and wanted to explore all that Astoria has to offer. This spot was highly recommended (on Google) as a quieter, more relaxed alternative to the busier Astoria and Hamido Seafood. My uncle also, separately, strongly recommended it for authentic Greek food.

15. Fish Cheeks (NoHo, NY + Williamsburg, BK) ✨

• The Bite(s): Honestly, picking just one bite from Fish Cheeks should be illegal. But if I have to narrow it down, I’d go with three: the Grilled Pork Cheeks, which are tender and smoky; the Coconut Crab Curry, lush, comforting and alarmingly spiced for the sensitive palate; and the Steamed Fish with Thai Herbs, which is zingy, fresh, bright (and something I wish I ate before making my top 7 fish list of 2025).

• The Why: Fish Cheeks is a staple in my culinary household and has been for a few years. This year, I was able to experience their newest Williamsburg location, and also visited the NoHo location twice. It’s one of those restaurants I blindly recommend to anyone new to the city or looking for something different / new to them.

16. Hamido Seafood (Astoria, Queens)

• The Bite: Grilled Octopus — I never knew I needed my octopus cut thinly, tender style, but now that’s the only way I want it. It’s got that delicious smoky char and buttery texture that melts on the tongue. The slightly fruity olive oil they drizzle over it takes the dish to another level. To this day, it’s the best octopus I’ve ever had.

• The Why: I kept seeing this place all over my internet feed(s), specifically for the fish, and I knew I needed to try this. I also loved the idea of eating Egyptian cuisine, which is not something I often get to explore. I highly recommend going with at least one other person and splitting multiple items.

17. Hellbender (Ridgewood, Queens) ✨

• The Bite(s): Yet another restaurant that made it impossible to pick just one bite. The Heirloom Masa Pancakes tasted like a biscuit and a pancake had a baby, with just the right amount of sweetness and hint of spice from the brick of cinnamon butter. The Head-On Wild Gulf Prawns actually blew my mind; that pineapple habanero butter needs to be bottled - I couldn’t stop scooping it up with my fork. But the Chicken Milanesa, coated in cornflakes, had me SAT. I even forgot it came with a side of cilantro mayo—that’s how good it stood on its own.

• The Why: Did you read the above? Also, this is the same team/chef behind Rolo’s. Chef Yara Herrera is a first-generation Mexican-American doing really cool things in the NYC culinary scene, so I needed to see what this was hitting for.

18. Ichiran (Bushwick, Brooklyn)

• The Bite: Classic Tonkotsu Ramen — This might be a controversial take, but I think Ichiran makes the best tonkotsu ramen in NYC. I order mine extra rich with extra garlic and a medium spice—the broth is savory without feeling heavy or too salty. Loaded with the recommended toppings, the tender, chashu adds another delicious layer, making it a perfectly balanced bowl that’s hard to stop eating after the first slurp.

• The Why: I love solo dining (and solo movies), and Ichiran’s booths really lean into that sense of intimacy. The no-tippings policy adds to the focus, creating a space where it’s just you and the bowl (and random hands passing you your food). I’ve been to the Midtown location, which offers the same calm once you’re inside, but Bushwick’s more desolate/industrial area makes the transition back outside feel smoother.

19. Kabawa (East Village, Manhattan) ✨

• The Bite: Breadfruit Tostón — Despite every dish being delicious at Kabawa, this is one of those that knocked it out of the park for me culturally and culinary-wise. Instead of green plantain, which can be more starchy, Chef uses breadfruit for a sweeter, more delicate flavor, with a crisp exterior and soft center. Fried breadfruit on its own is delicious, but he tops it with grilled octopus, dog sauce (spicy type of vinaigrette) and briny capers — WOW. It’s salty, citrusy and savory - and tastes just like a beach day in Puerto Rico.

• The Why: You can read my full feature on Kabawa here!

20. KazuNori (Greenwich Village, Manhattan)

• The Bite: Every single hand roll — I’m not joking when I say you cannot go wrong with any hand roll you pick, whether shrimp, lobster, salmon, yellowtail, etc. The beauty of this spot lies in its simplicity. Each hand roll is made fresh to order with just a few high-quality ingredients, letting the flavors shine. The seaweed is crisp, the rice is seasoned just right, and the fish always tastes fresh.

• The Why: This is another no-tipping establishment that focuses on fresh, quality ingredients and a casual, come-as-you-please environment. I’ve walked in, solo, numerous times without a reservation and have been able to sit at the bar. They offer both à la carte options and combos, which I highly recommend because these rolls are easy to pop back. I also wanted to gatekeep this one badly, but you can have it.

21. Kellogg’s Diner (Williamsburg, Brooklyn)

• The Bite: Guajillo Braised Short Rib Hash —I’m not a sweets girl—especially not at breakfast—and this short rib hash was made for folks like me. The short rib was tender, balanced by the sweet potato, zesty pickled onions, and the saltiness of the egg. The potatoes were cut into perfect chunks to soak up the runny yolk and meat juices, making every bite hit just right.

• The Why: Kellogg’s is a longtime diner staple that’s been around for decades. For me, it was the go-to after-party spot—and sometimes I’d go just for the monstrous mozzarella sticks. When news broke that the original owners were going bankrupt and the diner was closing, my community was devastated. Thankfully, new ownership has helped preserve its essence and keep it alive.

22. La P’tite Baguette Shop (Cambria Heights, Queens)

• The Bite: Codfish Patty — This was my “year of the patty,” since I was able to try Haitian patties from three different spots. What sets La P’tite apart is its dough: buttery and flaky, but thinner than others, letting the filling shine. The codfish inside is not too overpowering, just enough salt to complement the delicate crust. It was perfect on its own and with a cup of coffee in the morning (just trust me).

• The Why: I was introduced to this place because of my love for empanadas/pastelitos and codfish/bacalao. This is definitely one of those places you’ll have to go out of your way to get, but if you’re ever in the area, you should 100% make the stop.

23. Maison Pickle (Upper West Side, Manhattan)

• The Bite: Pull-Apart Honey & Butter Bread — I’m going to keep it real with you, I never need to go back to Maison Pickle if they take this bread off the menu, but MY GOD. These rolls are plush and pillowy, with honey butter melting and oozing everywhere. I practically needed a muzzle to stop myself from devouring the entire cast-iron skillet.

• The Why: This was a random “I guess we can just eat here,” spot; selected purely out of “right time, right place.”

24. Malecon (Washington Heights, Manhattan)

• The Bite: Rotisserie Chicken — Malecon is a true New York staple; if you know, you know. The Dominicans absolutely know what they’re doing with those chickens rotating in the window: well-seasoned, with crispy, golden skin and succulent meat (even the breast). I could easily house half a chicken here in one sitting, especially with that garlicky green sauce.

• The Why: My ‘wife’ and I were doing our fourth annual top-to-bottom walk of Manhattan, and we needed fuel to start our 13+mile journey. Malecon has been around since the 1980s and has always been my go-to source for quality, authentic Dominican food whenever in upper Manhattan.

25. Mariscos El Submarindo (Clinton Hill)

• The Bite: Camarones Zarandeados — If you couldn’t tell by now, I love seafood, and I love grilled seafood. Mariscos El Submarindo did their big one with their shrimp that are clean and simple, leaning more into the grilled notes and the natural sweetness from the shrimp than added seasonings. Butter, citrus, salt - that’s all you need.

• The Why: I kept seeing the Craken taco (octopus and cheese) all over my Instagram feed and initially went for that. I did feel like the taco fell a bit flat and the ceviche could have used some more flavor (maybe cilantro?), but the shrimp stole the show and made the trip worth it.

26. Naks (East Village, Manhattan) ✨

• The Bite(s): Another three-hitter, Naks certified themselves as top 10 restaurants of 2025 with the KFC (Kanto Fried Chicken), Adobo Rice and Lechon Platter. That chicken was CRISPY and well-seasoned, the rice garlicky and peppery, and the lechon platter juicy with the most perfect crackly skin. Every bite showed a real sense of control and confidence the Chef has in the kitchen.

• The Why: I had a girls’ dinner here to celebrate a friend’s belated birthday, and this restaurant happened to be on both my and the birthday girl’s “hit list.” I’ve been wanting to explore more Filipino food (please send me reccs!) and am so glad I got to visit this spot this year.

27. Nubiani (Upper East Side, Manhattan) ✨

• The Bite(s): Everything. This was probably the best Korean BBQ I have ever experienced in my lifetime. I got the Pork Package (three flavorful cuts) and Miyazaki A5 Wagyu bundle, which melted on the tongue. Even the unlimited banchan—which is made fresh, in-house, daily—felt premium: different salts/seasonings, sweet potato purée, various pickled vegetables, and the standard fixings you’d find elsewhere.

• The Why: I was celebrating my 33rd birthday dinner. I absolutely adore KBBQ and typically go to New Wonjo in Koreatown, but I wanted something a bit more elegant for the celebratory occasion. Nubiani in Midtown East delivered. It was calm, quiet, dimly lit and intimate. The service gave Michelin restaurant, and the best part of it all? You don’t go home smelling like KBBQ.

28. Pies ‘n’ Thighs (Williamsburg, Brooklyn)

• The Bite: Chicken Biscuit — You know when a chicken cutlet is so good it makes you want another immediately, and a biscuit so good you’re already thinking about seconds? That’s the chicken biscuit at Pies ’n’ Thighs. The cutlet is oversized and perfectly crisp, the biscuit is buttery and soft, and the honey butter and hot sauce spill out the sides in the best way. It’s easily one of the best quick sammies in that neighborhood, for sure.

• The Why: I hadn’t been since pre-pandemic and was deeply craving a biscuit on my way to the opening weekend of the new horror bookstore (The Twisted Spine). I knew this would be exactly the taste and texture I wanted, and I was right.

29. Pig & Khao (Upper West Side, Manhattan)

• The Bite: Sizzling Sisig — Chef Leah Cohen knows her way around some pork. Served sizzling hot, the chopped pork is crispy at the edges with plenty of savory, fatty flavor, balanced by lime and the over-easy egg mixed in at the table. With a side of the garlic rice, this is an orgasm in the mouth.

• The Why: This restaurant has been a permanent fixture in my Google Maps since I was introduced to it back in 2017/2018 by one of my favorite mentors. It is my go-to recommendation, along with Fish Cheeks, when people ask where I go for a consistently good meal. And, they always have amazing food/sharing deals.

30. Ramen by Ra (East Village, Manhattan)

• The Bite: Bacon Fried Egg & Cheese Ramen — This bowl was cozy, comforting and perfect for a cold, snowy day (which is exactly how I enjoyed it). Thick-cut, smoky bacon adds a savory punch, while the fried egg brings richness without weighing it down. Julienned scallions add a fresh, bright bite that balances the light, soothing chicken broth—just the kind of warmth you want when it’s freezing outside.

• The Why: Chef Rasheeda saw a gap in the ramen scene—“I’m open when others are closed, and I serve something nobody else does right now,” she told me as I finished my last bite. Breakfast ramen is something I usually make at home when I’m feeling lazy but want something comforting and filling enough to keep me going all day. Never did I imagine I’d get to enjoy it from a chef who truly specializes in it. But, I’m surely glad I did.

31. Risbo (PLG, Brooklyn)

• The Bite: Whatever Platter — A quarter roasted chicken marinated in a blend of Caribbean-inspired spices comes paired with creamy mashed potatoes and sautéed greens of the day. The chicken is the real star—well-balanced, aromatic, with earthy notes and a touch of heat. It’s incredibly juicy and definitely lived up to the hype.

• The Why: Admittedly, my ‘wife’ had been trying to get me to go to Risbo for years, but for no good reason, I never made an effort. Once she said she was moving out, I figured there was no better time to finally try what she considered delicious chicken. (She was right.)

32. Rubirosa (Nolita, Manhattan) ✨

• The Bite: TIE DYE™ Pizza — I’m not a pesto girl, and this was one of the best pesto x vodka pies I’ve ever had. I could taste the fresh pine nuts, and that nutty flavor danced with the smooth, tangy vodka sauce. The spiral pesto technique made sure every bite had an even burst of flavor.

• The Why: Read my pizza tour piece HERE!

33. Santo Taco (SoHo, Manhattan)

• The Bite: Steak Trompo Taco — I tried all of the meat tacos at Santo and the steak trompo is by far the best one. Thinly sliced from the trompo’s pit, each bite has a nice char with just the right amount of crisp edges. The avocado salsa and warm tortilla (made on site) turned this simple bite into an unforgettable one.

• The Why: After declaring Taqueria and Carnitas Ramirez as some of the best tacos NYC has, I needed to try Santo, which had opened in a portion of the space of La Esquina.

34. Sip & Guzzle (Greenwich Village, Manhattan)

• The Bite: Bikini — The fact that one of my favorite bites of the year comes from a dual-concept cocktail bar should tell you everything. The Bikini is Guzzle’s (the upper half of the bar) take on a ham and cheese sandwich. Gooey comté ganache and some of the best ham in the world (Cinco Jotas Jamón) are pressed together between buttery wafers. If they froze these and sold them in mass, I’d buy them out. It’s just that good.

• The Why: I caught up over drinks with a journalist friend here, and my friend strongly recommended we all try one. I wish I had ordered three for myself.

35. The Snail (Greenpoint, Brooklyn)

• The Bite: Sticky Toffee Date Cake — This is the only dessert on the list, and for good reason. I’m picky, moody, and usually not interested in sweets, but this cake grabbed me by the hair and owned me. The toffee sauce, which I normally dislike, was addictive, and each bite of the cake—moist and sweetened by dates but giving olive oil cake vibes—melted perfectly into the malt gelato. With every bite, my eyes widened like one of those anti-drug commercials.

• The Why: This place was on my list from the moment I saw the tower of chips and jamón - I’m a simple girl. But, I also thought the steak would be phenomenal (it was), and I was curious to explore this new, trendy restaurant in Greenpoint. The food was good, but this dessert would have me going back for a pickup order.

36. Strange Delight (Fort Greene, Brooklyn)

• The Bite: Shrimp Loaf — Crispy fried shrimp comes nestled inside soft, pillowy Japanese milk bread. The crunch of the shrimp pairs perfectly with fresh iceberg lettuce and tangy giardiniera, adding a bright, spicy kick. Don’t think too hard, just get it.

• The Why: I don’t know how many times I can write about loving seafood, so that’s it. That’s the why.

37. SUKH (Fort Greene, Brooklyn)

• The Bite: Pla Tod Samun Prai — At Sukh, the fried branzino is crispy and flaky, topped with a crunchy mix of fresh Thai herbs that add a nice pop of flavor. It comes with a tangy chili lime sauce and a sweet, savory fish sauce that tie everything together. (Disclaimer: I ate this after I made my feast of seven fishes blog post.)

• The Why: I’d been looking forward to coming here for a while—I love how the decor and overall theme pay tribute to Thailand’s railway history. Plus, it was clear I was deep into a year of exploring Southern Thai cuisine.

38. Ume (Williamsburg, Brooklyn) ✨

• The Bite: Sushi Set — Ume’s Signature Sushi Set offers incredibly fresh, high-quality seasonal fish and various uniquely flavored salts, making each bite vibrant and clean. What makes it even better is that you get to build each bite just the way you like with a side of perfectly cooked rice and nori sheets. This was such a beautiful culinary experience for me.

• The Why: I loved the fact that this was a more traditional restaurant, requesting that guests take their shoes off before entering the space and sit on plush pillows on the floor (which I hear is better for digestion). Inspired by the founder’s travels, it is a truly one-of-a-kind sushi experience.

39. Yayo’s (Park Slope, Brooklyn)

• The Bite: Shrimp Mofongo — The mofongo was anything but dry. It was perfectly moist with a bold garlic punch that typically brings the dish to life. The grilled shrimp are juicy and tender, and I’m already salivating while thinking about the creamy white sauce that offers that classic touch.

• The Why: Yayo’s used to be really good, and then it hit the tank. I think they either got new ownership, a new chef, or both, because, lately the food has been hitting again. I tested the waters with a quick take-out order and was glad to give it another shot.

40. Zaab Zaab (Woodside, Queens)

• The Bite: Moo Tod Pla Ra — If you’ve read through this entire list, are you shocked that we are ending with yet another Southern Thai spot and a pork dish? I’m not. Though this is fried pork belly, there was absolutely zero flab, making for a perfect crunch with each bite. The fish sauce marinade was a nice, acidic, sharp twist to the sweet pork.

• The Why: I mainly wanted to come here for the fried fish (which was delicious) and because I know they were on the NYT’s best 100 and have also received the Michelin Bib Gourmand for the past 3+ years.

Cutting my list down to 40 restaurants wasn’t easy, but I had one simple requirement: Did I get so locked in on the dish that I went completely silent? Or if I spoke, was it just a singular word or phrase on repeat?

For every spot included, I can honestly say yes.

-

thank you for reading

xoxo, amanda lynn

One thing that stood out to me: damn, I ate a lot of whole fish!

Steamed, broiled, grilled, (especially) fried — if there is a whole fish on the menu, I’m likely going to get it. And, since I explored so many of them this year, I decided to share seven fish that I think are worth your money.

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7. Hamido Seafood (Astoria, Queens)

This Egyptian-style seabass, served whole and butterflied, is rubbed with garlic, lemon, cumin, and other spices before grilling. At first glance, it seems like the fish might be overpowered, but instead, the mild and buttery flesh holds its own against the bold flavors of the marinade. If the amount of spice is too intimidating, you can select and customize exactly what you want in the fish, which is exactly what Hamido is famous for.

6. Elias Corner (Astoria, Queens)

Known as Astoria’s first fish restaurant (been around since the 80s), this Greek restaurant is unpretentious, letting its fresh seafood speak for itself. The grilled branzino, butterflied and deboned for us, was classic: a slight char from the grill balanced by bright lemon, extra virgin olive oil, and light seasoning. Each bite felt like a quick getaway to the Mediterranean. While Astoria Seafood, Hamido and Abuqir get a lot of love and praise in the neighborhood, I may argue that Elias Corner is just as special (if not more).

5. Fish Cheeks (Williamsburg, Brooklyn)

Fish Cheeks is a “go-to” for me, so when I found out they were opening a Williamsburg location, I knew I had to try it. The PLA TOD KAMIN is what I went there for, and it did not disappoint. The whole, fried fluke—marinated and topped with crispy garlic, turmeric and lemongrass—was delicate, flaky and excellent with the accompanying crab fried rice. While certain parts of the fish did feel a little overfried, it was nothing a little fish sauce on the side didn’t fix.

4. Hungry Thirsty (Carrol Gardens, Brooklyn)

Known for its intense flavors and more complex, spicy profile compared to other Thai regions, Southern Thai cuisine has the oomph I’m always looking for—and Hungry Thirsty’s Pla Tod Nam Pla delivers. The whole fried branzino boasts a delightfully crunchy exterior smothered in crispy fried garlic, creating an ideal contrast to its soft interior. It’s clear why Hungry Thirsty deserves to keep the former Ugly Baby space. I honestly feel bad putting this at No. 4, because it was just that good.

3. Chalong (Hell’s Kitchen, NY)

Unlike others from Southern Thai spots—where fish sauce comes on the side—this deboned, fried whole fish was doused in sweet fish sauce and topped with fried garlic & julienne scallions for a fun twist that landed Chalong’s “Seafood Platod” in my top three whole fish of 2025. It was lip-smacking, finger-licking good (completely forgot about the side order of rice), and it is single-handedly one of the few things that can get me out to Hell’s Kitchen for pleasure.

2. YUAN (Jersey City, NJ)

A photo simply wouldn’t do this fish justice, which is exactly why it landed in my top two. Yuan, a Chinese restaurant, offers a “steamed whole seabass in foil” — a garlic-infused flavor bomb of a dish. Deboned tableside, the bubbling sauce beneath the fish is enough to get your mouth salivating, but the seabass’ mildly sweet and buttery profile still shines through. Best part? The restaurant sends you home with everything, including the bones, so of course, I made a fish stock for the future.

1. BONG (Crown Heights, Brooklyn)

If you follow food publications or blogs, you already know why this place is coming in at No. 1 on my list. One of NYC’s standout new restaurants of 2025, BONG serves Khmer food (Cambodian cuisine) that punches you in the face with flavor and versatility. The crispy whole dorade has a citrusy zing on the outside and is far from dry or overfried. The fermented accoutrements add a perfect, earthy contrast to the dish. Transparently, I did not want to share this, but it is perfect for two.

Let’s Catch Up? 12.15.25

1. I must give Zaab Zaab (Woodside, Queens) an honorary mention, because their Pla Takrai (fried striped bass topped with fried lemongrass and fried garlic, served with nam jim seafood sauce) was a truly delicious bite in 2025. It didn’t make the top seven, but it’s certainly a runner-up—especially since they fillet the fish for you and serve it “chicken tender” style atop the whole fish.

2. Boro Brine is another “new” restaurant I was lucky enough to experience this year. While I didn’t get to try their branzino, the tuna carpaccio with pork belly, tonnato, and tomato ponzu was one of my favorite bites. It stood out as a dish where the flavors didn’t compete, but instead worked together harmoniously. I am plotting my return trip to get that branzino dish, which comes with crab fat chermoula, roti and perilla.

3. During Q1, I was obsessed with hearty but healthy lunches. I went on a Pan-Fried Swordfish Salad kick and realized that at-home salads did not have to be boring at all. It jump-started my obsession with finding new ways to make salads exciting, tasty and fulfilling.

4. As much as I don’t want to be on Instagram, it truly connects me with some of the coolest folks in the industry. I saw someone post Papi Tropical’s pop-up at Commune in May 2025, and knew I had to get my hands on his “Chillo Frito: whole fried snapper marinated in manabu spices.” It did not disappoint.

5. I was fortunate enough to visit Puerto Rico twice this year (January + October), and each time I had to get my hands on two things: Dorado Nuggets & Whole Fried Snapper. I’m starting to think fish may be my second-favorite protein right after pork. Can you tell I’m Puerto Rican?

We’re promised a better future, but only if we follow the fine print in the agreement that is our life. Though everyone’s agreement comes with different terms and conditions, we’re taught to abide by some of the same rules:

• Get good grades in school (I always did)

• Stay out of trouble (I did)

• Go to college (I did that too)

• Miraculously find a steady-paying job that can support your life without outside help — even if society was not built for you to succeed (somehow, I’m doing it)

What happens when you follow the rules but are left unfulfilled?

When you’ve dedicated your life to clawing your way to the “top” of the corporate ladder, just to be met with the realization that everything you’ve done thus far was for someone else. Something else.

Some don’t get to (or need) this realization. But, for those of us who wake up one day and say, "there’s got to be more to life than chasing down every temporary high,” — what do we do?

I say, we ditch the hustle and welcome a side quest.

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I have been working since I was allowed to. I was also of the mind that a little side work was needed to supplement the main work, which wasn’t cutting it financially.

Babysitter, tutor, homework supplier, Shake Shack employee, production assistant, executive assistant, intern, dog walker, broadcast DJ, nightlife DJ, editorial contributor, temp, event coordinator — all titles I have held at some point in my life.

I am only 33.

However, I am most proud—because it validates the decision I made to take on debt to attend an accredited university—of what I currently do: public relations.

I’ve been in the wine/spirits/hospitality world for close to a decade and have truly found a home in this industry. Though I went to school to study broadcast journalism—I thought I’d be the next Angie Martinez—I fell in love with Public Relations in 2010 after my first course with a brilliant man named Professor Morosoff.

Fast forward to 2025: I spend the majority of my days writing: emails, press releases, pitches, strategies, reports, bios, etc.

I share the stories of brands, companies and people who all believe what they have created should be experienced by as many people as possible. They’re passionate about their product and deeply believe it is worth someone’s time, money, attention and energy.

Whenever people who don’t understand my line of work ask me what I do, I tend to say: I help people share what matters to them with a larger audience.

When it comes to what matters to Amanda, that’s usually between me and my journal. Writing is something I’ve always done since I was a child. It initially started as a way to explore my feelings or cope with trauma, but in my 30s, it has become a way for me to document my journeys, see my progress, plan out my life and manifest what I deserve.

A lot of my best ideas have been buried in various notebooks I’ve collected along the way. I kept telling myself I’d explore a new hobby once I had the free time to do so. But yet, I always made extra time if another paying job fell into my lap. Always searching for more, hungry with ambition, I was willing to expend my own sanity for a few extra bucks.

It’s much harder to carve time for a hobby when you barely have enough energy for yourself. It’s easier to sacrifice for financial gain because you can justify it as being essential for survival.

Then one day, while journaling, I realized the cycle I was trapped in.

I am single, childless, live alone and have climbed the corporate ladder to a place that 18-year-old Amanda only dreamt of. I have endless free time and the financial blessings to explore whatever I want; I have pretty basic needs, and all of them are fulfilled. My biggest bills are likely my monthly rent and gym membership, and I’ve made therapy one of my main hobbies. Most importantly, I am in a place in my life where I feel confident, safe and free enough to explore whatever I want - just because I can.

So, why don’t I?

I spent the next 20 minutes before drifting off to sleep staring at the ceiling in my bedroom, thinking about my life, what I wanted to do with it, and whether or not I was truly happy.

When I awoke the next day (Sunday, October 5, 2025 | 7:28 am), I journaled the following:

I had the most amazing dream. Someone (a mentor?) was reviewing the first “essay,” he called it, and said it was really solid. It left him with no words. It felt validating to get that kind of critique in the dream, and it immediately got me motivated to take a creative writing class, like I did in college, if not full-on school.

I’ve clearly been trying to give the mornings to myself and my own thoughts. I saw a TikTok recently that was like, “it’s really those damned phones!” When I’m constantly stimulated by something—phone, TV, games, music, work—I don’t allow myself the space to think or even daydream!

I’m cluttering my mind w/noise and not even considering the benefits of a bit of silence. I think having locked into the idea of writing, recently, I’m curious about the parts of my brain that are untapped. What else can I think of?

I just want so much more for myself in all of the ways imaginable. I’m deeply committed to myself, and I have been for some time — even if I’m only coming to this realization now. I know who I am and what I am capable of. I just gotta do it.

**

I spent the rest of the morning searching for “in-person writing courses in NYC.”

I had no intentions of becoming a published writer; I simply wanted to do something creative. Something for me. I figured if I dedicated most of my day to writing for other people, I could squeeze in a couple of hours here and there to get back to myself in a way I hadn’t since college.

No end goal in sight; no specific achievement to obtain. No gain.

Within an hour of searching, I found Sacket Street Writers, and after a few more hours and Reddit research, I applied to an eight-week personal essays and memoirs course with Morgan Jerkins.

I spent the past eight Tuesdays from 7-9 pm meeting with other creatives and exchanging positive energy, ideas, musings. I dusted off my writing skills, refining them each class, but also learned a lot of new things along the way.

One of the most important things I learned, that has lingered in the back of my head since, is Morgan saying, “Your story matters, tell it. You may not think it’s unique, you may even ask yourself who cares…but someone does. You do.”

Thus, the birth of this very Substack, which I created to share—much like my clients at work—what I am passionate about and believe in.

**

[Wednesday, December 10, 2025 | 7:12 am]

Yesterday was my final writing class. I am feeling bittersweet about that coming to an end b/c I really enjoyed the experience. I learned a lot, met new people, found a new hobby, refined skills, put myself out there in a new way. I was able to experience something with no end goal and TBH it’s kinda weird. No tests, no finals, no big reveal of the progress over the span of 8 weeks — just a couple of drafted essays and new skills to show for it. That is exactly what I wanted.

**

Since the course ended, I have written two personal essays, six Substack posts, several short stories in my notes, and too many future story ideas on my whiteboard.

All I think about, now, is writing — for myself.

While fully leaning in and finding joy in my side quest, I came across a well-penned Substack piece by Nadia Meli, where she said, “The more I heal, the less ambitious I become. I have nothing to prove.” It reassured me of what I had been contemplating throughout the entire writing experience.

I’m not going back to school. (At least right now.)

Around my 5th or 6th class in the course, I was contemplating taking another one (still am). I told Morgan, and she said, “Girl, at that point, just get your MFA?” I confessed that I didn’t want to go back to school anymore.

Up until that point, I had been going back and forth on the idea of pursuing a Master’s, then a PhD, with the intention of becoming a professor. I was drawn to teaching public relations to offer people, like me, the space and resources to explore paths in the industry beyond corporate, crisis, or entertainment PR.

The more I thought about it, the more daunting the endeavor seemed.

You’ve got to research which schools to get your Masters

Do you want a PhD? Do you want to have to write books and research studies?

Do you want to be an adjunct? Work at an accredited university?

Want tenure?

How much debt are you willing to go into for this? Can you afford that?

Are you okay with starting all over again? From scratch?

Can you juggle full-time work and school?

Do you think you have another corporate climb in you?

Do you really want to do with being entry-level again? Can your life even afford that

The answer to most of my questions: no.

I’ve seen firsthand what it feels and looks like to be selective with my money and energy. I’ve experienced the privileges that come with having time. The more I poured into myself with this side quest, the fuller my glass became. My thirst for life was quenched in ways it has never been before — each drop of dedication a tiny act of self-love.

This level of freedom and peace would be taken away from me if I gave in, yet again, to the hustle. To the idea of climbing more ladders.

I can’t risk that.

**

[Wednesday, December 10, 2025 | 7:12 am - continued]

But, if I’m being honest (about the writing course), I got even more than a couple of drafted essays. I started writing more in general, and I proved to myself that I can just do something for the plot. I invested financially in an experience that was just that — an experience. It re-wired my brain chemistry. I **can** just have a side quest.

I don’t want to hustle all of the time.

I don’t need to hustle just to feel alive.

**

So, as I sit here writing (and metaphorically screaming from the top of my lungs) about the importance of having a side quest and just doing shit for the plot, I find comfort in knowing that I am practicing what I’m preaching.

And, remember that dream I had back in October about being validated via a critique of my essay?

(12.09.25) “I’ve really loved reading your words and this was piece was no exception. The protagonists’ relationship with (redacted) is fully elucidated and builds off of your first submission in important ways. Things that were hinted at in the first submission become visceral and alive in the second.

Across both pieces, there is a raw vulnerability that I greatly admire as a writer -- you are able to tap into very difficult emotions with power and relatability.

Well done, Amanda! Thank you again for sharing with us and I hope to continue reading your work.”

I guess I did gain something, after all.

This piece was a “catch-up” in and of itself. However, if you’re curious to read more, feel free to check out my recent posts!

1. i just want to listen to music, not question my morals

2. fork to paper: kabawa

3. moments i still hear, even in her absence

4. is there really such thing as a “best slice” in NYC?

5. i give up; capitalism wins

“See… no other platform can let you go back to 2015 and see what you were listening to!” While he may be right, that very thought is precisely why I decided, after signing up for the two-month free promotion to see my 2025 wrapped, that I simply cannot use Spotify anymore. It’s not because I have a thing about being monitored—I am well aware almost every smart gadget I own does that—but because even with all of that monitoring, the app still can’t give me what I want.

A TikTok video came across my ‘for you’ page where the creator, Erica Huang, beautifully breaks down my issue with the app and what she calls “recency bias.” We’re being fed the same rotation of songs, and if/when we do get “discovery,” it’s hardly ever something new or different. It’s typically music we may have already “liked” from a different playlist.

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I decided in early 2025 that I would (eventually) ditch Spotify.

In addition to my annoyances with the user experience, I didn’t feel good about the entities in which the company outwardly supported (ICE, Trump), or the communities it blatantly harmed (Palestine, immigrants, artists). Fully understanding that there are so many other companies I throw money at but maybe don’t align, morally, with (i.e., Amazon), this felt like something small I could do to “make a change.”

If I could boycott Starbucks and never drink there again, I could ditch Spotify and never use it again. Small inconveniences for the greater good, or at the bare minimum, small inconveniences to feel better about myself.

Apple Music

I explored Apple Music from May-July 2025, transferring all of my playlists from Spotify onto the platform.

PROS

• Endless (and exclusive) DJ mixes, playlists, videos, etc. - this is something I miss now that I am no longer on Apple

• Seamless UX/UI - it was organized, neat and pleasent to use

• Better audio quality than Spotify by a landslide - I tested Leon Thomas’ “MUTT” on both platforms and was appalled with how terrible Spotify’s quality was

• Widely used by friends, so easy to share music

• I felt better about using it over Spotify

CONS

• Probably the worst algorithm I’ve experienced across the platforms. Not sure why it thought I’d want to hear Beyoncé’s “Run the World (Girls)” following A Fine Frenzy's “Almost Lover”

• No crossplay - which blew my mind. Considering I use all Apple products, it made no sense to me that I could not control the music playing from my computer on my phone and vice versa. Spotify allows this

• Selective casting. I wasn’t able to open the app and select any “smart” speaker in my house to play it on unless it was an “approved” brand. For example, with Spotify, I can cast to a Google or Alexa speaker; however, with Apple Music, I can only cast to my Sonos speaker

• Terrible playlists. To put it plainly, there is no “getting to know” the listener and creating meaningful playlists for discovery. You definitely have to know what you want to listen to if you’re using Apple Music

• Even though I felt better about using it over Spotify, at the end of the day, it’s still Apple…

Tidal

Ultimately, Apple’s shitty algorithm was something I couldn’t take anymore. I went back to Spotify in July 2025 - confused where else to go. Then, I experienced how badly things got over there with AI-generated content. I also learned that the CEO was funding an AI weapons firm (which he also chairs).

There just has to be a better platform to throw my money at.

Tidal came into the picture in August 2025, and, yet again, I transferred my playlists from one app to the other (thanks to TuneMyMusic).

PROS

• The best audio quality out of all music streaming platforms

• Relatively fine personalized mixes and suggested user playlists for artist discovery

• Easy-to-navigate app and an interface that seems like a pleasant hybrid between Apple and Spotify

• Decent algorithm, though I found it repeating similar songs/playlists after albums ended (i.e., anytime I finish Tyler the Creator’s ‘Don’t Tap the Glass’, like clockwork, the algorithm will go into Clipse’s ‘Let God Sort Em Out’ album)

• Anyone can upload music, so I can explore different sounds and buzzing artists

• I don’t have any moral conflicts using it

CONS

• No crossplay, like Apple, which at that point I had become accustomed to not having

• You cannot have typos. If I try to search for a random song and there is a typo, it can not (will not?) “guess” or register anything (Apple is intuitive and Spotify will guess based on lyrics - likely due to the AI integration)

• Unlike Apple and Spotify, it seems to have a harder time pulling music in dead zones, and you have to be very intentional about downloading songs to be able to use the app in “offline mode”

• If you have terrible service, sometimes the app can’t even open

• Nobody in my world uses Tidal, so sharing music is not seamless anymore

• There is no crossfade option, so my songs cannot seamlessly blend into one another

YouTube Music

Though I still use Tidal—and have no plans to explore another music streaming platform just yet—I think the entire year-long journey has me feeling defeated. I’ve gone back to my initial thought of simply listening to albums I want to hear and hoping the algorithm introduces me to something at some point. I give up.

Just as I was accepting defeat to capitalism, my cousin added me to his YouTube family plan, granting me free access to YouTube Music. I’ve been using it in tandem with Tidal for a couple of months now, and have really enjoyed the duality of having the two.

PROS

• ENDLESS music - unreleased songs, mixtapes, perfectly curated playlists, etc.

• A surplus of DJ mixes, which removes the thinking power needed to curate a vibe. I can search for DJs I personally enjoy and let them do the mixing

• An AI tool that actually works - you can let it build you custom playlists that specifically cater to your request

• Easy to search for anything

• Complementary to a more organized platform, like Tidal

CONS*

• The audio quality is hit or miss

• The UI still leans too heavy on what YouTube is known for versus giving the true feeling/vibe of a music platform

• Not many people use it, but a few more than Tidal

*I have not used it in the same ways as Spotify, Apple, Tidal to determine any other cons

Now what?

I’m tired of feeling like a “bad” person when I’m genuinely trying to make the “right” decision. I also (still) cannot believe that statement is about which music streaming platform I am going to use. I thought I’d explore some other platforms, but thinking about how to utilize a new platform, adapt to something else, or transfer another damn playlist feels and sounds exhausting at this point.

There is no decent music streaming platform that can embody everything I want.

There is also no such thing as ethical consumption under capitalism.

There will always be cons.

Maybe one day I’ll resume the search, but for now… I am satisfied with using Tidal for day-to-day music streaming and YouTube Music for discovery mode. I’m not sure I can handle any additional research at this point.

It’s time for my brain to go offline for a bit.

Let’s Catch up? 12.7.25

1. Some of those other streaming platforms I was considering include Qobuz, CodaMusic, Deezer - have any of you used those?

2. I recently wrote about how music binds to memory and the struggles of going no contact with a parent. Olivia Dean’s “The Art of Loving” was the inspiration behind the post. I decided to create a playlist of other songs that were meant to be about a romantic situation but are absolutely soul-crushing, when you listen to it from the perspective of a child who no longer talks to their parent. Listen via Tidal, or transfer it to your preferred platform!

3. I rejoined Spotify (for free) for all of 48 hours to get my 2025 wrapped from January-July 2025, and also had my Tidal wrapped from August-November 2025. Safe to say Bad Bunny, Tyler the Creator, Kendrick Lamar, and Day 26 were my most-streamed artists of the year.

4. In 2024, I accompanied someone to a Casio event, where they were celebrating the debut of the new Privia PXS7000 keyboard. In a very shocking exchange of events, I won my very own Privia in a raffle (I never win anything!). I taught myself how to play Banks’ “Contaminated,“ but lately I’ve been thinking about getting proper piano lessons to put it to good use…More to come on that side quest.

5. I was ranting (in a TikTok draft I will probably never post) about how certain YouTube/Living Room DJ sets feel like they are all on 2x speed. The DJs are rushing to blend one song into the next, typically relying on Serato Stems to make everything sound more interesting/unique. However, some really great sets on YouTube show the value in taking time and letting songs breathe, just like beflo’s “Music. Flow. Home. 80’s - 90’s R&B and Jazz classic mix.”

I’ve always been so confused by society’s need to find the “best” version of something, especially in a city as diverse and innovative as New York. Someone’s always looking for the best burger, the best tacos (it’s Carnitas Ramirez), the best whatever. There are endless listicles dedicated to this very notion that there’s always going to be a no.1 spot, even though taste is literally one of the most subjective things.

So, why are we so desperate to crown one winner? Ego, maybe. A little masochism, too. We want to be the person who found “the best.” Because, really, you have to go out of your way to find a bad slice in NYC (i.e., willingly choose to go to some random place in “work island” or order Papa John’s/Domino’s/Pizza Hut for anything other than nostalgia).

After thinking long and hard about this (all of 3 hours), I did what anyone would naturally do in this position: I agreed to a pizza tour with someone who claims L’industrie is the best in NYC. I needed to prove there is no such thing as a “best” slice, but that everyone could be the “best” for something different.

(TLDR: I visited Scarr’s, Grand Street, Rubirosa, John’s on Bleecker, and L’industrie. They each received a superlative for being the “best” at something. Keep scrolling to the end to see those.)

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My tour partner and I kept the hunt primarily in the Village area of Manhattan to hit as many places as possible (in terms of the amount of pizza we could humanly ingest) without having to travel too far or wide. We started at 12:30pm and laid the foundation/guidelines to keep the tour as fair as possible:

1. We must taste everyone’s plain slice. If you don’t have a good plain slice, I’m (not) sorry, you don’t make good pizza.

2. The second slice we try has to be the house/fan favorite, so we get a sense of what they’re “the best” for — again, I was not looking to settle on one place or overall winner, just trying to explore the question.

3. I was focused on three primary things: (1) the dough needs to be bouncy, but firm and it should have enough chew to it to make me crave a crispy crust (if thin/crunchy all over due to pizza style or cooking technique, it should still be foldable); (2) thoughtful sauce - it should have depth and fresh flavor without relying on added sugar; (3) the cheese should be salted and flavorful and I’d prefer it turn into a ball when chewing.

4. We can only critique the pizza for the pizza — anything else (i.e., vibe, service, hospitality, location) should not affect the rating.

5. Scale is 1-10, with 10 being an absolute banger for me and hitting all checkmarks listed in guideline #3.

The first stop was Scarr’s Pizza* (not originally on the list—a last-minute swap once we found out Ceres was closed.)

They call themselves the “elevated slice shop” and are known for milling their own grains, daily. The owner, Scarr Pimentel, is a true New Yorker and big on quality ingredients. Scarr’s is a total “who’s who” spot—trendy, artsy, streetwear-heavy, culturally tapped-in. By 12:30pm, the whole place (including the back section) was packed.

Tyler, the Creator’s “Rusty” blared as I squeezed between the pizza counter and the tiny standing counter. One bite of the cheese slice and I immediately knew it was the right way to start the tour. The foldable dough was light and thin—substantial enough to feel like a real slice, but absolutely something I could house a whole pie of. (After reading more, I learned Pimentel mills the wheat berries fresh, preserving nutrients and making the dough more airy and digestible.) The sauce was fresh, basil and garlic coming through; the cheese wasn’t as chewy as I hoped, but still flavorful. Since the slice was already so thin with a consistent crisp, I didn’t care for the crust.

I followed up with the HOTBOI—organic DiNapoli tomato sauce, cheese, beef pepperoni, jalapeños, Mike’s extra hot honey—and had to close my eyes for a moment. Damn, this is delicious. Not a revolutionary combo, but Scarr’s has the balance down: just enough heat, salt, and sweetness from the honey and tomato sauce to level each other out. I actually wanted a second slice, but we had to keep moving.

(Scarr’s total cost: $12~)

By 1:00pm, we arrived at Grand Street Pizza, another trendy spot in the area. It’s cozier, with that go-to neighborhood hang vibe—think intimate wine bar playing funky, melodic tracks (like Letta Mbulu’s Nomalizo)—but still very much a classic NY slice shop. They serve everyone from skateboarders and businessmen grabbing midday fuel to families and girlfriends catching up. That warm, intentional hospitality shows up in the pizza.

Leader of the pact, Rico, explained, “I slow cook the tomato sauce for two to three hours to extract as much flavor. […] You’ll see I leave the tomato chunky on the Margherita so you can taste it better. And, the mozzarella I use is always fresh, not shredded.” I started with the OG Cheese, similar to Scarr’s in dough and texture (again, didn’t care for the crust), but the tomato sauce felt slightly elevated, and the cheese was much more my speed—saltier with that little bounce I love.

The Margherita was the clear winner. The dough was softer and chewier, which led me straight to the perfectly crisped crust. Rico was right: keeping the tomatoes chunky added real flavor and a fun texture, and the fresh mozzarella gave me that bubblegum-like chew I wanted.

We also sampled a garlic knot with vodka sauce, and I need to call out that the vodka sauce—made every 48 hours and freshly made that morning—is something I wanted to drink on its own. I’d recommend the Vodka slice, hands down.

(Grand Street’s total cost: $10~)

At this point, I was definitely feeling the effects of all the pizza, even though we’d been splitting each slice in half. The 20-minute walk from Grand Street to Rubirosa (the only restaurant on the list) was much needed to make more room for the full pie we knew we’d have to order, as Rubirosa doesn’t do slices.

Our reservation (strongly recommended!) was set for 2pm, and we got there a little early but were still immediately seated. I felt like I walked into a time machine. The vintage wood bars and tables, floral wallpaper, and antique 1920s milk-glass pendant lights transported me into someone’s grandmother’s living room. Though, lowkey reminding me of my own with the music locking into old-school R&B (Zhané, Mary J. Blige, Sade). But that’s exactly it: Rubirosa was meant to feel familiar, according to Michael Harlan Turkell via Resy.

Even though it’s a full Italian restaurant, it made the list because it’s known first for its thin-crust pizza. In addition to the classic—which uses its own Pappalardo recipe from 1960—we ordered their most iconic pie, the TIE DYE™: vodka, tomato, pesto, fresh mozzarella. Being extremely thin-crust, the pizza wasn’t foldable and literally cracked under pressure, but that felt intentional, because the sauce is the star. I have never had pizza sauce like that in my 33 years; it makes total sense why they’ve kept the same recipe since the 60s.

The classic tasted like the tomatoes were plucked straight off the vine, balanced with garlic and herbs, delicate enough to complement the fresh globs of mozzarella. But the TIE DYE™ genuinely blew my mind. As a pesto hater, I still had to try it, and I get the hype. I audibly moaned. I could taste the fresh pine nuts, and that nutty flavor danced with the smooth, tangy vodka sauce. The spiral pesto technique made sure every bite had an even burst of flavor. If we didn’t have two more pizza stops ahead of us, I could’ve easily eaten the entire 14” pie myself.

(Rubirosa’s pie cost: $40~)

It was another 20-minute walk between Rubirosa and John’s of Bleecker St. (thank God!), and we arrived around 3:45pm to a small line of people waiting to be seated. By this point, I think my tour partner was feeling sluggish, and the setting sun made room for a slight chill in the air — we decided to order a 14” pie to-go (they don’t do slices, either) and grab a drink at the bar across the street, while we waited. By the time we sat down and ordered, the line was gone (if you’re wondering how fast it moves). We took the pie to the little seating area (with the water fountain) across from Joe’s and got to business.

John’s is NYC’s coal-fired pizza legend, established in 1929 by Italian immigrant Giovanni “John” Sasso from Naples—the “birthplace of pizza”—and still run by the family today. This tastes as if Grand Street Pizza and Rubirosa’s slices had a baby, I said. The sauce was delicious and classic like Rubirosa; the crust was thin like Grand Street but had that iconic bounce. What set the Original slice apart was the mouthful of cheese with an actual string pull. In my opinion, it was the closest, if not identical, to a classic NYC slice** we’d eaten all day.

The Piccante pizza (mozzarella, tomato sauce, cherry peppers, pepperoni, garlic, red pepper) was extremely hot—and, they do note “SPICY”, but…goddamn. I had to remove some of the cherry peppers, and I love spicy food. But, otherwise, the flavor was good and, again, it tasted like one of those “classic NY pies” I’d order with my family growing up.

(John’s total cost: $30~)

Not gonna lie to you, chief, I didn't want pizza anymore at this point — but L’industrie was a must and stop for my tour partner. We got in line around 4:25pm waited for about 20 minutes, and got our slices within 8 minutes of ordering. The vibe of the West Village location was divy (they were playing the Rolling Stones), and your classic Manhattan “get in and get out” type of pizza joint. The brick walls throughout the space warmed up the cold/sterile open-concept kitchen, where guests are welcome to watch the harmonious assembly line prepare the never-ending incoming pizza orders.

Known for long fermentation and use of imported Italian ingredients, L’industrie has consistently been called one of “the best pizza slice shops.” In my opinion, the Burrata slice was just fine. I found the creaminess of the burrata to almost take away from the sauce, which was still bright but a little overshadowed by the cheese. The thin crust was much appreciated at this point of the tour, though. But, let me tell you something: if you’re ever in a position to choose between the Fig Jam & Bacon slice over another, do not choose the other.

Despite being ready to explode into chunks of tomato all over L’industrie, my stomach expanded even further the minute the blend of sweet fig, salty bacon, and tangy cheese hit my tongue. These are the types of combinations that culinary dreams are made of — it was the best way to end the tour. I would go back to either the Village or Williamsburg location specifically for that slice.

(L’industrie’s total cost: $15-20)

SUPERLATIVES

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Thought I was done with this feeling

Thought I was safe, hmm

You were the warmth that I needed

And then you changed

A sharp pain hit the center of my chest — who am I thinking about?

And, if you knew me at all

You wouldn’t try to keep me small

Who would do that to a friend, let alone the one you love?

Then, the piano chords of “baby steps” crept in; I was familiar with this song, as it’s been going viral on TikTok.

Oof, this is tugging on something.

Now there’s no one to text when the plane lands

Or to call when it’s taking off

Right, left, baby steps

I’ll be my own pair of safe hands

It’s not the end, it’s the making of

It wasn’t until “a couple of minutes”—the song I am most familiar with—started playing that it all clicked into place.

We could talk if we want now

Already know it’s no good for me

It’s alright, think I’m fine with the silence

There’s some good in goodbyes

This album was clearly about the loss of romantic love, but the longer the lyrics occupied space in my mind, the more I thought: this album is quite painful, if you think about it from the perspective of a child who no longer talks to their parent.

As that realization started to settle in and get comfortable, my mind went down a rabbit hole — so, follow me. We’ll tie everything together.

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When I originally posted about it on Instagram, I had so many words, feelings, and an overwhelming sense of pride after dining there. When I think about fine dining in NYC, I rarely see people from my culture, or even neighboring ones, represented in those spaces. Sure, there are endless French and Japanese spots, and it’s been great to see more “elevated” Mexican, Korean, and Indian restaurants popping up. But when it comes to Caribbean cuisine, I can’t think of many places doing it at that level. And it’s not because Caribbean food isn’t worthy of a fine-dining experience—it absolutely is. The issue (I feel) is that when people haven’t experienced a cuisine before or aren’t familiar with the culture it comes from, their first reaction is usually, “Wait… why is this so expensive?”.

Kabawa seems to be part of the new trend (that I hope never dies) of Caribbean cuisine being reimagined in a high-concept way. My experience there felt like a love letter that Chef Paul Carmichael sent directly to me. Being able to capture the pride and joy of being Caribbean, along with the flavors, sounds, and hospitality associated with the culture, was quite impressive. Rather than rely on shock value that I tend to find in a lot of ‘fine dining’ establishments, Kabawa seems to lean more into authenticity and tradition than anything else. Taking inspiration from multiple cultures—Barbados, Jamaica, Trinidad, Puerto Rico—Chef turns each dish into a nostalgic reflection of the islands.

Immediately upon entering the space, which is tucked away in the East Village (in an alley on 8 Extra Place), it felt familiar. You know that feeling: maybe you’re going to your favorite Tia/Auntie or grandmother’s house; perhaps you’ve been invited to someone else’s Thanksgiving celebration because you had nowhere else to go. It’s warm. Inviting. It feels like a home away from home.

Yes, it’s fine dining, but it isn’t pretentious.

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Everything is so intentionally designed, from the mosaic decor and small accents (i.e. the set of dice that came with the bill) to the audio playing in the bathrooms. One room loops a speech from the Barbadian president, another plays the familiar rainforest and coquí sounds any Puerto Rican would recognize. Add in the open kitchen with counter seating, and the whole place feels like you’ve been transported somewhere outside of NYC - yet still directly tied to the vibrant and diverse communities that are the thread between boroughs.

It’s small and intimate (about 24 seats) and even though it’s clearly an open-concept restaurant, it still feels like you’re in someone’s home kitchen. The kind of kitchen where everyone congregates to keep the cook of the house company, or the kitchen you’re lingering around in to learn (or steal) recipes and techniques — and in my case, where you’d volunteer to be the designated taste tester. Nothing is accidental. Every detail feels like a tribute to the generations before us; to the culture, the history, and the things that were stripped or stolen along the way.

The menu is a 3-course prix fixe (starting at $145 per person), and you select from a few options for your starter, main, and dessert. Each course was served at the pace at which we ate — I never felt rushed, and the entire staff was so friendly and welcoming. There were a lot of laughs and even inside jokes created with some of the team members in the two+ hours we were there.

The menu has a soulful vibe with fresh twists on traditional dishes. Chef uses local NY produce and Caribbean-sourced ingredients to, “make the menu feel grounded in both place and heritage.”

Being a typical Puerto Rican, I naturally gravitated to the ‘Breadfruit Tostón’ topped with octopus, dog sauce, and capers — honestly, probably the best starter bite I’ve had all of 2025, and I’m still drooling over it. The ‘Pepper shrimp’ didn’t quite hit the mark for me, though I loved the idea of blending Jamaican flavors like sorrel and scotch bonnet. As a surprise treat, every table got a ‘bread course’ featuring (positively) insane house-made roti with four mind-blowing dips: curried chickpeas, eggplant chutney, butter & fruit jelly, and a pumpkin-kombucha dip. I need batches of those dips in my fridge, permanently.

The main reason I wanted to check out Kabawa—and honestly, the star of the show for me—is the Chuleta Kan Kan (though written as ‘Can Can’ on the menu). It’s a Puerto Rican classic; the pig is the island’s national animal, after all. Kan Kan refers to the crispy, crunchy edges that make the dish instantly recognizable, and that chicharrón-style crunch is achieved through pan-frying (after being marinated in a bunch of deliciousness).

My main gripe with the dish, as a pork lover, is that it can sometimes be dry and tough. Kabawa’s though? Juicy and packed with flavor. That’s largely thanks to Chef’s choice of well-marbled pork and his signature cooking technique. He flash-fries the edges for that crunch we want, then finishes the chop in the oven to keep it juicy inside. If you’re not into pork belly or the softer, jelly-like texture, this might not be your thing. But for me, the mix of crispy exterior and tender belly underneath was exactly what I wanted needed.

We wrapped up with a cute dessert duo—the Birthday Flan and Coconut Sorbet that tasted just like the Coco Icee you get from NYC street carts—and took a moment to reflect on the amazing culinary journey we’d just experienced. The entire thing felt like being able to brag about the food from whoever you think is the best cook in your family — you just want everyone to know about it.

Chef Paul Carmichael masterfully blends history and tradition with modern technique and skill at Kabawa. Not only did I feel truly seen as a Puerto Rican, but also as a foodie who knows that anything is worth the price when it’s made with that much love, care, and attention to detail, no matter the cuisine or culture.

I can’t wait to go back.

Let’s Catch Up? 11.18.25

1. I was telling someone recently about how I’m not really a bread person. I got the same visceral reaction you’re probably giving your computer/phone screen right now. However, Maison Pickle’s Honey Butter Pull-Apart Bread was probably one of the most non-sexual, sexual experiences I have ever had.

2. Anyone from friends and family to industry connections and dates asks me a similar question. “What do you like cooking the most?” I always reply with ‘Asian Cuisine’ because it’s something I tend to gravitate towards, regardless of my vibe (lazy & uninspired or creative & excited). I’m really proud of this take on a Thai Red Curry (fish) dish that I can safely claim as my own, now that I have an actual recipe written down.

3. Last Christmas, my wife (Andrea) gifted me the Ichiran Ramen Kit, and I have yet to use/explore it. I keep telling myself I want to save it for a rainy day, but the truth is: I don’t want to cook it and then… not have it anymore.. I know how silly that sounds, but it’s just my reality.

4. On Sunday, November 2nd, I hosted my first food-driven gathering at home since Andrea moved out, which is no small milestone considering we lived together for over a decade. My new (shockingly affordable) espresso machine sparked the idea for “Cafe Torres Presents.” To wrap up spooky season properly, I cooked & served brunch, screened Thirteen Ghosts on DVD, and curated a very special menu to match the vibe.

5. If you haven’t heard of Sundays Only, consider this your push to try it! It’s a small-batch biscuit delivery based in NYC and, as you may have guessed from the name, it is only available on Sundays. Each week, they offer three flavors: the OG buttermilk is a staple, and then they rotate the other two flavors, typically offering one sweet and one savory. I know I said I’m not a bread person, and I’m not — but, biscuits are my THING. If you have some extra cash to splurge, it’s worth the order.

I come from a generation that learned how to code and build websites, illegally download or stream entertainment, and constantly find loopholes to get what we want — all before getting into high school. True hedonism. It’s not to say any of those things followed a moral or ethical code, but it was indeed the standard. It was also the early 2000s, when we had far less access to opinions, beliefs, and thoughts from anyone outside of our immediate bubble. Everyone is using Limewire, it’s fine.

Having access to unlimited music was the norm. So what, if I infected the computer my mother worked so hard to get us by downloading questionable files? I need to hear that Razah and Rihanna song, ‘Where Do We Go From Here’. I’d always find a way to fix it (albeit the most inconvenient way, which required restoring the Dell to factory settings and wiping away all saved data). But I needed those songs.

There was a time (late 90s-early 00s) when I wasn’t so consumed with quantity, but rather the quality of music I owned. Even the idea of owning music is its own separate topic. Back then, I was lucky enough to have a few favorite tapes for my Tasmanian Devil cassette player, or be able to pick up a few discs at my local F.Y.E. store to play on my Sony Walkman CD player. I prided myself on having the most current or relevant albums—yes, full bodies of work—but also got a thrill whenever I’d find a man selling bootleg mixtapes on the street. That’s probably when I first realized there was more music to be found (thanks, DJ Clue). Those analog days, while seemingly making a modern comeback, are long gone. And, the tipping point may be credited to Steve Jobs.

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My hunger to find the newest, undiscovered, unreleased music was insatiable by the age of 13 and only worsened over the years. Nobody has this Ne-Yo song; I bet they haven’t heard of this version of ‘You’ by Chris Brown. Having a large music library was a symbol of some sort of creative status — you were ahead of the curve; cool, even. Swapping iPods was the wise thing to do to find even more sounds and dive into playlists from someone else’s perspective. The concept of not being able to discover new music and have access to an unlimited archive was foreign.

Eventually, by the 2010s, the iPod Shuffle—I had the USB stick version—became an iPod Nano, the Nanos and standard iPods were then replaced by iPhones; the devices were always changing. The more the devices changed, the more memory we had for files, the more music I wanted. Quality was no longer at the forefront of my mind — I need it all.

But it was exhausting having to be responsible for maintaining your own library. It’s no surprise that by 2010/2011, I was obsessed with platforms like 8Tracks and SoundCloud. Even better than Limewire, SoundCloud harbored music from anyone, anywhere willing to make their own sounds and share them with the world. A candy store for the music kids, a library for the nerds, a Grand Central hub for everyone else passing through.

Rather than having to do the work and come in with a plan of what I wanted to find or hear (via LimeWire), SoundCloud provided a middleman to do it for me. 8Tracks, on the other hand, replaced the need to swap iPods with friends; now, I had unlimited playlists of all different genres. I was able to (too easily) explore different sounds, vibes, and artists. I didn’t have to earn anything; it was just handed to me. While I already developed a skill for it, these platforms completely changed the pace at which I was able to find the newest, undiscovered, unreleased music.

Even though I had this unlimited access, by late 2019, my excitement, dedication, patience (and, quite frankly, leisure time) dwindled. I was less eager to be on top of new releases, and certainly less motivated to compile playlists or mixes of the best “underrepresented” artists. I was overwhelmed by how much music there actually was available to me. How can I possibly keep up with all of this? I’d wondered if things would have been simpler if I just stuck to my favorite albums and “stay in the dark,” but my fear of sounding like an old head—think about how Spike Lee talks about current hip hop—wouldn’t let me.

{Enter Chat}: Spotify

Spotify was phenomenal: endless music, artist discovery, an organized interface, aesthetically pleasing, and easy to connect with other users. My new hub. The user-generated playlists, of course, were the first thing to catch my eye, and eventually, they’d integrate algorithm-based playlists specifically curated for the individual. There was a time when I truly felt: Spotify just gets me. I ignored the complaints (pleas) of friends and acquaintances, “they don’t pay their artists!”, because it was out of my control. What am I going to do about that? Stop using the platform to prove a point?

It took me many years to finally say: you know what — enough is enough! And to be clear, it wasn’t some grand moral stance that pushed me there. I didn’t quit Spotify to stand in solidarity with artists. If all my DJ friends were still using it—and actively promoting Spotify by sharing tracks across their social media—why should I be the one to stand on business and delete the app that made listening so seamless?

The truth is, I left because Spotify was making it harder and harder to simply enjoy and discover new music. Sure, it feels nice to tell myself I’m “supporting the artists,” but ultimately, it was the platform’s own choices that finally broke the cycle. By 2024, the app had become less about music and artist discovery and more about “content,” whether AI-generated, podcasts, or audiobooks; we lost the plot! It just became too damn much.

I was tired of being fed the same 25 songs on Spotify, despite “liking” close to 10K, and sifting through non-music sections in a music streaming platform. I had also grown tired of the curated playlists “made for me” because they regurgitated the same artists and songs across the spectrum — where is the discovery? What happened to the algorithm?

I deactivated my Spotify account, which began the quest to find a better decent streaming platform: one that wouldn’t make me feel like shit for using it, but, more importantly to me, provided me with everything I initially enjoyed about them to begin with.

In my next piece, we’ll explore what that research looks like and, {{spoiler}} how, ultimately, I feel like I am being shoved right back where I started.

Let’s Catch Up? (11.17.25)

1. I’ve been going down a dark spiral/rabbit hole about that I Run” (Haven.) song that went viral on TikTok. It being generated by AI has sparked a lot of controversy and it sort of echoes this battle with morals/ethics I’m exploring in my own music streaming journey. The song slaps, though.

2. I recently went on a date and the person asked, “so what have you been listening to non-stop lately?”. I proudly admitted that Day 26’s debut studio album has been getting consistent rotation—it’s going quadruple platinum in my house—all of 2025. Perhaps the entire Diddy trial/case/situation was the catalyst, but I genuinely think that album is one of the best made R&B boy-band albums of all time.

3. I’ve really been into the TikTok trend of people recommending books or songs based on what either sound like, and one of my favorite comparisons has been Olivia Dean’s “A Couple of Minutes” being linked to Aisha Muharrar’s ‘Loved One’ novel. That book explores love, grief, and longing in a way that’s so familiar, so heartbreaking, but also inspiring. After reading the book, it made me enjoy Olivia’s song even more. (I also think ‘Normal People’ would be a good book comparison, as well.)

4. A good friend of mine started her own Substack too, and I am so incredibly excited for it! One thing that has me considering Spotify again is the new playlist series she made to accompany the site: I Knew You’d Like It.

5. I was fortunate enough to go to some amazing tours/concerts this year: Kendrick Lamar, Tyler! The Creator, Kaytranada, 070 Shake, etc. One of the more beautiful things about this year was being able to take my younger sisters along with me (largely for their excitement towards the artist). Being able to sing my heart out with my (now) 17-year-old to Tyler!’s “Like Him,” and groove along to Kaytranada with my 19-year-old sister has been the highlight of 2025 for sure.