The group chat went off, as the kids say.

Notice how it’s not “you must eat this one side for the rest of your life.” It’s just that once you have the best version of the side, it will live as the epitome of that side. Sure, you could always go back to that restaurant and enjoy the thing again, but how often would you? And then if you wanted to enjoy that side elsewhere, you know it won’t ever live up.

A majority of us were torn between tots and onion rings. As one friend said, tots’ range is good to amazing, while onion rings’ is terrible to amazing. Fries and sweet potato fries, I would say, can be terrible (perhaps a slightly higher “fine”) to amazing as well. (But a stale fry? Yes we know it’s terrible.

As my voice gives way and I continue to type, I suspect you may know that I landed in that majority between onion rings and tots.

Let me begin with yes, I was a proponent to enjoy the best onion ring of my life. A rarity as of late: onions hurt my stomach a touch. Growing up, I was definitely in the high percentile of children ordering French onion soups from Panera, Mimi’s Cafe, Claim Jumper, etc. (It was the big melty cheese and bread soaked in jus, let’s be honest, but it was also an easy default for me to go to when menus were too large and my indecisiveness caused me to freeze.) Onion rings were enjoyed alone or with family, as I could immediately pop a mint if I felt my breath. (I mean, that’s a myth to a degree, right? I think all the talk about garlic and onions and not being able to kiss during a date is… yes, justified, but c’mon! Eat what you want, pop the mints, get on with your night!)

What makes an onion ring chef’s kiss, so to speak? That seasoned breading. A light fry (hence, grease factor). The breading holding to the ring—not flaking. A soft onion (that again, doesn’t give so much flavor that it punches your breath to “oh no” territory). Not too soft so as not to be soggy, but obviously not so firm that it feels raw. And shall we factor in a sauce? Yes, we can factor in a sauce.

I have no photos of this, but my favorite burger growing up was from Carl’s Jr: The Double Western Bacon Burger (especially once it became that $6 restaurant burger from days of yore). It had barbecue sauce (no mayo), cheese, bacon, meat (usually two patties, hence double of course), and tiny onion rings to enjoy straight on the burger. I’m still a sucker for that combination.

So what I have to offer is above: Gramercy Tavern’s incredible burger, which I enjoyed with one of my closest friends when he visited in 2018, where we got at least three delightful onion rings as a side. I mean, the restaurant name says it all: it’s a place of known standards and high quality. And beside that, Bareburger, a glorious high-quality chain across the city. My beloved and I must have been out for the day, getting it as dinner to continue into the evening at home. Notice the slight crumble of coating—a fault of takeout and steam as we traveled. I will say, however, Bareburger is top tier when it comes to a solid onion ring.

To return to the chat, I must introduce tots: my other toss up.

The range is truly good to amazing. Crispy tiny potatoes formed into the tot shape! A range of hard exterior and soft interior! A textural delight! Plentiful topping and sauce options! Chili cheese. Tatchos. Spicy aiolis. Ketchup like a champ. Truly, bless up on tots.

A few days after the conversation, I told my beloved about it. I must have manifested the beautiful $6 side of tater tots at Art Bar, served with a sauce that kept me going back for more. A slight kick, but looking at the menu, there is no sauce listed. So the sauce lives in memory as being incredible with no name. I enjoyed them alongside a black cherry mojito, which was perfectly refreshing on a gorgeous New York summer night.

Shout out to another place with superb tots: Harlem Public. I need to make a dedicated post to them, but know that you can upgrade your fries to tots for $2 alongside incredible burgers. They also have fantastic fries and sweet potato fries (which are now carrot fries, which are still delightful).

Look at how this has unfolded: We are landing on fries. Yes, fries also come with delightful sauces. They can be seasoned accordingly (notoriously salt, but sweet potato fries with some cinnamon and garlic on it? Dare I remind you of the dirty martini fries at Black Tap? Perhaps some jerk seasoning on some fries a la Harlem Shake!) They can curl! (Oh a curly fry from Jack in the Box or Arby’s—WHEW.) They can be breaded with seasoning (again, the curl!) Would we pull wedges into this? (Perhaps—I was not above an order of fries and wedges for middle school “lunch.”) They can definitely waffle.

Waffle fries have so much of what I love: a coating of seasoning, hopefully lighter salt, a solid sauce option, fun texture (sure some can be soggy, but we’re ideally finding a solid waffle), the occasional long waffle or half waffle that feels like a traditional fry.

Do I chase toward “the best version ever?” I mean absolutely. But I love a surprise. I love a craving. I love enjoying food for what it is and dream of what it can be. And I’m pleased to find places where I can enjoy these sides consistently.

I’ll leave the comments open: What would you choose? And where is your favorite version of your side currently?

And Now, We Further the Plot: Your Literary Rec

Old reliables seem to be a theme. There are writers I go to where I know I’ll enjoy their work (base level) but still offer surprise, a way of rewiring syntax and language that stops me in my tracks, makes me think of the possibilities. One such writer is Kathleen Peirce.

A dear friend recommended Kathleen’s The Oval Hour to me years ago—perhaps after I graduated my MFA program? Regardless, it truly was a beautiful reading experience—one that has stayed with me. I ended up buying Vault: a poem, a beautiful chapbook that presents the poem in numbered parts. There is truly something so grounded and delicious about Peirce’s writing. What does it mean to be delicious? Again, syntax. Language. Repetition. The macro and micro moments of bringing history (personal and worldly) into the poem, of shifting the eye slightly elsewhere and then returning. The texture that is built. She’s a marvelous poet.

If you’ve been here for a bit, you know I’m a proponent for the sweet treat. Sweet treats forever! No shame in the game of enjoyment! Part of my personal lore is that I was the favorite during Halloween because I would trade any and all chocolate for Nerds or orange candy or anything that essentially wasn’t chocolate. And even then, candy wasn’t exactly my craving. I’ve always been a vanilla ice cream and oatmeal raisin cookie person. Later, a chocolate chip cookie and brownie person (yes, I grew into understanding that I like dark chocolate). A bread pudding person. Tiramisu person (especially a tiramisu person). Affogato. Pie (apple, cherry, pecan, pumpkin—I’m definitely forgetting some). COBBLER!

Well, this cherry bombe sundae from Black Tap brought quite a few of my personal multitudes together. (Shout out Walt Whitman, for as we know, we contain multitudes.)

My beloved and I are but two people who were invited to celebrate the CrazySundae’s launch: multiple scoops of vanilla ice cream topped with a variety of pastries and whipped cream and other goodies. The cherry bombe had maraschino cherries, pie crumbles, cherry pie slices, cherry sauce, and the aforementioned whipped cream. My goodness, what a feast of a treat. The serving vessel was chilled, so the ice cream didn’t melt (which also feels luxurious). The sundae could easily feed six people, and we made the best of it.

While I’m an ice cream person, my beloved is not (the occasional frosty treat enjoyer, more or less). He even said that while the sundae looked almost intimidating (purely by size), it wasn’t as sweet as he expected. Or overflowing in toppings. It was manageable—a balance to all things. Food can be spectacle, but it needs to be spectacular to keep people coming back to expand into other offerings. For example: I got to enjoy a taste of “martini fries,” fries covered with dill and touches of caviar, a bit of tzatziki. Talk about that salty into the sweet (no, I would not dip these fries into ice cream… which can be a delight).

Entering my 38th year, I also leaned into another multitude: foodie merch. I’ve slowly accumulated a collection of hats (L’Appartement 4F is my favorite bakery with a croissant cinnamon roll that lives rent free in my head, even as I plan to try other rolls; Grillo’s Pickles, where I got my pickle guy hat after their pop-up in NYC; and Bear Donut, my favorite donut store with mochi donuts and “brionuts” that are brioche dough donuts stuffed with creams like matcha, double milk tea, PB&J, and strawberry, etc.). Well, Bear Donut happened to launch some limited edition shirts and sweatpants with Japanese-brand Muhaku… and feast your eyes on the below.

I’m normally adverse to sayings on shirts. I feel like they can be a detail that destroys an otherwise nice color way! However, when it comes to these shirts, just like the donuts, they are perfect. Yes, let the people behind me question if they have had their emotional support donut! Yes, donuts make us happier! Yes, see that address?! You should go! I’ve been going to Bear Donut since they opened (my beloved and I enjoyed donuts during many birthday celebrations, but our first time was on my birthday). I plan on going obviously for many years to come—especially with my fantastic shirt. (Seriously, this shirt is such high-quality and I’m so glad I treated myself to it as a casual addition to my wardrobe.)

What I loved about this pop-up, too, was that they also offered exclusive donut flavors: hojicha caramel and strawberry matcha mochi donuts. I loved the strawberry matcha, which was to be expected since the matcha brionut is my favorite. It was perfectly sweet with some grassy notes. And the hojicha caramel! Again, a solid blend of slightly sweet with earthy notes. I’ve been loving all things hojicha all summer, including a hojicha lemonade I got to enjoy on my way out the door (with t-shirt in hand, of course).

In terms of other foodie merch, my family treated me to a very fancy, high-quality Pizza Hut rugby shirt and socks released through Dinner Service, a quality clothing apparel company with foodies in mind (and Figma?!). The Hut Original collection brought me back to my childhood. An immediate nostalgic rush: the Book It! tote with buttons, the iconic red roof, the font, the goal of reading so many books to inundate myself with free personal pan pizzas (two things I love: reading and pizza). These clothing items—indulgent, yes, but when you go into an office, you yearn for a bit of fun to break out of the monotony of what feels like business casual.

And as for other birthday treats (both edible and non):

• I put my $25 reward from Madewell on a very nice striped sweater and chore jacket.

• Salt & Straw offers a free double scoop, so I treated myself to their seasonal wildflower honey and lemon chess pie frozen yogurt! Truly, the tartness of the yogurt with the slightly tart, bright pieces of lemon chess pie, the sweetness of honey throughout—truly the best way to spend a humid summer day.

  

• Finally, some bookish treats.

  

  We all mark birthdays differently: the “excuse” to celebrate. To indulge. Why not love yourself enough for these moments to be part of the everyday? Yes, I show “restraint” in not buying things all the time, not always giving into the craving. Balance, a joy to look forward to moments like this, where I can imagine outfits I put together in colder weather, buy books and save them for later. The excitement stays.

And Now, We Further the Plot: Your Literary Rec

I went to the Strand on the Upper West Side with a few books in mind: Katie Kitamura’s Audition and Sheila Heti’s Pure Colour had been on my list for a long time. I decided to browse, ended up at the front table again and again. Claire Keegan’s Antarctica had a cover that caught my eye (similar to Alexis M. Smith’s Glaciers, another book that’s been of interest. Something about the blues of both covers). I opened to the first short story and was hooked immediately. I flipped to the next, read the first sentence, and felt a similar zing. There’s magic in finding an author who can quickly capture your attention—I don’t think I’ve felt that energized since first encountering George Saunders’ work for the first time.

For now, summer blurs with the rest of the year. Its markers heat and humidity, a change to linen. Gone the jackets of spring. I bury my head into work work work (work work): open the computer, log into Slack and email and systems where article drafts and ideation and strategy documents sit. I mark the days beginnings and ends: work out in the morning before I log into the day. Pull out a book on my commute home (and the days I don’t commute, I go to the couch and ideally open said book, but most likely catch up on my TV shows).

So what of weekends, then? An opportunity to pack in my needs: grocery shopping. Laundry. A longer workout on Sundays. Prepare myself for the days ahead.

One of those days, I entered a sweepstake. Don’t know if I scrolled and clicked an ad, or found it in a newsletter, but I received a text reminding me of the drawing for a NY stay: a hotel, facials at a spa, passes to a sauna, dinner at a fancy Italian restaurant. I got another reminder. Another. And while I didn’t win, I got second place: two passes to the sauna.

So I planned a Saturday: a free flow session at Othership, with lunch at Gran Torino.

We went during one of the torrential downpours (about two weeks ago). We got caught up in it, the rain first falling lightly then cruelly down, pummeling. We trekked. Luckily, we planned on getting wet, so did we mind? Yes and no. We made it, the rain dying down as we waited to enter.

No phones allowed, so walk the memory with me: We checked in, separated into changing rooms, full of warm light and plenty of lockers. Plenty of showers. When ready, go down a hallway to be greeted by dim warm light, sparks of red, a circular area with rows of cushioned seats. Like an arena for waiting. The sauna doors to our right, we entered when summoned in. The higher you go, the hotter you become. Rows of beautiful wooden rows, where we lay our towels down to get comfortable. A guide quickly walks us through: this is self-guided, go at your pace. The guides will walk through with snowballs of essential oils that they’ll throw on a bed of coals at the front of the room. A guide throws a towel around like a pizzaiolo, wafting the scent through the room.

We leave when we’re ready, sweat-slicked. We go toward the common showers, rinse before we enter the cold plunge pools. There are two pools, ranging from cold to colder. We try the colder first, and chicken out. A guide asks if we’d like a guide, and we do. I lock into her voice, settle into the cold, focus on my breath. I last the entire time. We get out, and the guide asks if we’d like a treat. A sound bath, a sense of calm within the ringing.

We repeat the cycle again: sweat, rinse, brave the cold. We showered again before leaving, getting a first-time gift of a bit of incense to remind us of our time.

The rain was done for the rest of the day. Refreshed, we walked, visited local shops along the way (mainly Heatonist, our favorite hot sauce shop and famed Hot Ones partner). Then we arrived to Gran Torino, our favorite Williamsburg restaurant with pizza to sandwiches to tacos.

I decided to enjoy the break in the humidity, the stillness after the downpour, the relaxation from the sauna, with a frozen Pina colada: white rum, pineapple juice, lime, and cream of coconut blended together, served in a wine glass with a coconut rim. Creamy, yes, and bright. My beloved got the Old Fashionist: bourbon with a bottle of Crodino to top it off (a non-alcoholic bitter), with orange and a cherry.

We leaned into ordering things we haven’t had in a while, food we typically don’t make for ourselves. I got crispy fish tacos (chipotle mayo, tempura beer battered fried basa fish, pickled red onions, cilantro, cabbage). There’s something about summer, a cold beverage, light and crispy fish, and sauces. I’m not a mayo person—but when you add a flavor to mayo, I’m in (and does that not make it an aioli?! IT DOES). So yes, I was delighted. And better yet, my beloved shared the fries he got with his eggs Benedict (traditional, with an english muffin, canadian bacon, and hollandaise, with fries as the “crispy potato” listed on the menu). Benedicts hold a special place with us: it was what he ordered on our first date (almost seven years ago). Look at the pepper on these! The rich color of the hollandaise!

If we were hungrier, we would have ordered a pizza. And now we have something to look forward to next time we’re in the area. (Also, they have a kiiiiiiiiller tuna sandwich—and I’m not much of a tuna salad/tuna sandwich kind of girl!)

And Now, We Further the Plot: Your Literary Rec

Rest and relaxation, right? I forgot that I entered a giveaway for Emma Straub’s American Fantasy, a book about a woman who goes on a boy band cruise. I’ve been excited about it since I first heard about the book (Emma owns my favorite bookstore, Books Are Magic, where I got to celebrate my debut collection almost ten years ago).

Of course we think of cruises as little escapes from the daily doldrums. I’m a child of cruises, my mother whisking us away for a time to enjoy the ship, the food, the entertainment, the cozy pods. Well, for our protagonist, Annie, who has to go on the cruise without her sister and receives a work email that leaves her a little frazzled, she’s already in an odd mental state. But as we can trust the seas and atmosphere to do (especially with a ‘90s boy band), there is possibility in the air (and yes, slushy drinks and entertainment).

Outside, just now, I heard sparklers. Their sharp fizz in the air.

And now, I open a can of sparkling water.

The past few days have been historic: Yes, a country’s 250th birthday. Yes, heat waves in New York sweeping across the days. The highest temperatures in 14 years. I carried fans and a humidifier from room to room, hoping to break the stagnant air. I filled and drank, filled and drank, filled and drank from my water bottle again and again. Filled the Brita, poured the pitcher dry. Repeat. I staved off the heat headaches, replenished the water that made its way out of my pores. My poor upper lip, the first place I sensed, patted dry then prayed it would stay dry again.

How does one break from just water? Don’t get me wrong: Water is everything! Our bodies are 70% of the stuff! Adding some bubbles are a way to make it fun. Flavor, yes, another opportunity for “fun water.” And I feel like bubbles at one point were considered “spicy” (yes, spicy water—although I feel like maybe the spiked waters, like a Ranch water, may also fall into a “spicy” sense of the water… sprout? Family tree? Varietals of water?)

Listen: I love a little sparkle. I used to make sparkling water myself, but I like to make it with fruit and my machine has gotten a bit dusty. I love a sparkling tea. Jasmine or general “green.” Trader Joe’s has a ton of flavors: Yes, the watermelon lemonade is perfect for summer. We enjoy a lime, black cherry vanilla, and raspberry lime. Pineapple is good, but it activates my “geographic tongue” (so my tongue gets super bumpy from the acidity—fun!). I used to be a Polar sparkling water girly, but perhaps that became a bit overwhelming in flavor (an odd sentence for me, yes, but perhaps it’s more about the amount I could enjoy vs. how much I’d let it stale between openings). Hal’s is also quite acceptable, although I haven’t enjoyed a Hal’s in a while. Waterloo I’ve tried, but perhaps the sense of “artificial” flavor came through a tad too strongly.

So yes, I have… a lot of thoughts about water. When you work out six times a week, you need to ensure you stay hydrated. When you experience the stale hot air of the subway systems in the city, you need to stay hydrated. Little clinks of ice in my water bottle. They still melt quickly. I carry a can of bubbles with me to the office. Keep it in the fridge. Open it when I need to wake up my senses, continue typing in the cold air and light of the office. And after today’s workout (3 hours with jump ropes, weights, a weighted ball, weighted ropes), I sit with my little can of bubbles, rejuvenated, here.

And Now We Further the Plot: Your Literary Rec

I decided to start reading one of the books that’s sat on my shelf for years: Jonathan Lethem’s The Fortress of Solitude. It was assigned to me in a class I took in undergrad (it was Fall 2010—a truly transformative quarter in a transformative year). The book came out in 2003 (so to the professor, the book had legs—you typically see a mix of “older” books and hopefully some published within the past few years in classes). In that class, it was a book I skipped (since we were reading a book a week and I figured out which book I wanted to focus on writing papers for (I think by the time this book was scheduled, but memory is slippery), and, well, I was working a lot and prepping my grad school applications for my MFA). Time wasn’t exactly on my side then, but I heard so much about the book that I kept it (versus selling it back for a few bucks). And it traveled with me, from undergrad to grad school to a cross-country move. Books arrive to you when the time is right—and the first sentence ends with “in July.” So here I am, in July, finally reading a notable classic.

The creators. The influencers. Who were told about the events in advanced (I’d gamble anywhere from about 72 hours to a week, perhaps more). And then they post sometimes at the start, or on the very last day something is around.

I get it: We must run with the news and times. Busy schedules keep many people away from these special moments, these “get here until it’s gone,” “we’ll never do this again… unless it goes well and maybe we’ll bring it back next year” moments.

My beloved and I were reminiscing about a time we were going to a brunch or a class, and there was a SpongeBob Squarepants “activation.” That’s the industry term, of course. But that’s what it was: an interactive environment that had fun merch at the end (I believe some pieces were free after you played games or something of the sort). We thought, If we had time, maybe. And even then, the call was really “Come check this out.” How were we to know about the fun to be had? Would it be fun for adults? Was it a nostalgia device, a place to take us back for the upcoming movie? (Don’t ask me what movie it was—but yes, it was whenever the last movie came out.)

Which brings me to a pop-up I was able to track like my life depended on it. I’m talking about Grillo’s Pickles New York Pop-Up that lasted from June 5th to June 20th.

Their Instagram posts about their pop-up came to my attention through a friend, who shared it through her stories (promoting a sandwich collab! If you go to those Instagram posts you’ll see specific dates where the collab partners hung out in front of the shop!). I became obsessed: I saw the cute storefront. I saw “exclusive merch.” (I’m a simpleton—I love a potential opportunity for exclusive merch. Fashion, baby.) And better yet: exclusive pickles.

I’m talking grapes pickled with fresh mint. I’m talking carrots with dill. Green tomatoes with dill. Hot jalapeños. Red onions. Minis. And some usuals: hot and classic spears. A pickle de gallo (okay wait there’s no way that’s… just hanging out? Existing? That feels pretty special... and their store tells me it exists all the time!!!)

So here was my planning: We had a pretty eventful weekend ahead for the first week, and with work, I knew I’d be tired. I missed a pickle slide drop. So we said OK, let’s wait till Sunday (the 14th). Well… on the 12th I saw their announcement: they were out of the pickled grapes. And I wanted—no, needed—a chance at the pickled grapes.

We decided to go later in the week. Then they were out of everything by that Sunday. They announced a restock by Wednesday (the 17th). Dare I leave work to pickle? I daren’t—and I didn’t. But I committed to going Friday—and then, another announcement: The pickled grapes were out, but would be restocked Thursday (the 18th). That was it: I decided to spend a summer Friday (aka leave work a few hours early) to venture into the heat of the city, praying the whole way that the grapes would be there.

Behold the wallpaper! The fridges! The stickers! The boxes of slides! The side of merch! Fellow pickle lovers!

After the initial green shock, I ventured to the fridges.

The grapes were there. And the carrots. And the green tomatoes.

So then it was time to contemplate merch. I knew I wanted socks. I thought I wanted shirts. But then… my eye was drawn to a hat. A hat that, after I already purchased the pickled goods and pickle socks, I knew I needed to venture back in line for.

I made the right choice. Say hello to my chill dill that shall accompany me throughout many summer adventures.

Now, while I haven’t even tried my pickles yet… I did get a sweet treat right next door.

Truly, can there be more of a summer moment? Pickles in hand (well, bag), a scoop of ice cream, a quick trip back to the train, and a favorite book in your hands?

And Now, We Further the Plot: Your Literary Rec

I’ll be eating my pickled delights with the delight of Paige Lewis’ Canon, a nonbinary epic where our coming-of-heroism hero Yara is chosen by God to defeat Dominic, the leader of the Bad Guys. There’s also the prophet Adrena, who gets really bummed that they weren’t chosen so decides to take destiny into their hands and joins the army of Good Guys to try to get to Dominic first.

Paige is one of my best friends and a truly fantastic, fantastic writer. Their mind is so fun! They are so fun! And that brilliance—all that sparkle—exists right here in Canon. I mean there’s a newt and a whale in here! There’s secret powers! Quests to gain answers and skills! It’s so funny and enthralling and fantastic. Go read it—with lots of snacks, like I’m about to jump back into doing.

Today, now, it’s 88 degrees. When we went to Yasubee, a ramen place, the evening was cloudy, with rain on its way toward the weekend.

We made our way to the Chelsea location, an area we frequent when we go to the occasional gym class (boxing or running, in fact). It’s an easy place to find, with two sidewalk signs announcing happy hours and specials. We made reservations with a pulsd deal (think of it like Groupon), where we’d share an appetizer and dessert, but get our own entrees and drinks.

We kicked the evening off with a mocktail (a Yasubee Mule, with a lemon and orange twist) and a white yuzu ale (which I didn’t try, but was told was delicious). Yasubee offers a few canned milk teas alongside other mocktails and cocktails, other beers—a small selection, yes, but carefully curated.

As quickly as the drinks arrived, so did our appetizer of karaage chicken. Beautiful, crispy boneless fried chicken with a citrus Kewpie dip, topped with black sesame seeds. Carlos burnt himself a tad from the first bite, warned me to wait—and I did, patient, knowing how glorious the chicken would be. And it was: Crispy (see that batter!). Juicy. Not just a quick one biter, either—definitely 2-3, making each morsel a more savoring experience. The Kewpie was a delightful way to slightly cool the chicken, provide even more moisture than imagined.

Again, whatever your weather today, the weather was cold. We wanted hot broth. We wanted noodles. We wanted ramen. We chose two different preparations, both with a broth fortified with pork. Each type comes with bamboo, a jammy shoyu egg, and noodles (of course, noodles!). And these noodles were bouncy, which I really enjoy in a ramen noodle. I chose the shoyu ramen—a soy sauce-based broth, three slices of chashu pork, spring onions, and seaweed. It was exactly what I’d expect from a bowl of satisfying ramen. The bamboo was actually a surprise for me—yes, I knew it’d be there. But it took on this unctiousness due to the broth—like a mushroom, it sopped up the broth. The egg was perfectly jammy! (A side tangent: I attempted to make ramen at home, and did a quick jammy egg (not soaking it in soy sauce and other flavorings before enjoying it), and it is truly an art!). The chashu was excellent: soft, moist (yes, despite being in soup! Soup can continue to cook the meat if we’re not careful!).

My beloved chose the miso ramen, fortified with more fish (anchovies and bonito in the broth). His came with minced pork, bean sprouts, carrots, chives, spring onions, and sesame seeds. His had a lot of texture! And heat! And the fish essence was coming through beautifully! You cannot tell from the picture, but there was more red in the broth (most likely if red miso was used, perhaps!).

We saved half of our ramens for later (mine was enjoyed as soon as we got home, and Carlos enjoyed his the next day. 10/10 on the leftover quality!).

Yasubee offers three cheesecakes for dessert: Basque, yuzu, and ube. We decided on the Basque—or should I say, creme brûlée. We had a gorgeous torched sugar top to the golden cheesecake, topped with powdered sugar. It was a wonderful time, especially as we haven’t had too many “Basque” or “creme brûlée” cheesecakes (and had been craving cheesecake). Our waiter, before he left, gave us a yuzu cheesecake for later (which I enjoyed thoroughly at home the next day).

We cannot wait to go back, whatever the weather may be. And right before we left, I heard what could have been a regular’s order—the immediate recognition from the server, the immediate “Do you want the wasabi chashu tonight?” (Yes, wasabi chashu! Torched chashu and wasabi soy sauce!). The way I wanted to say “Yes, and much more next time.”

And Now, We Further the Plot: Your Literary Rec

Rain sometimes brings out a sense of coziness—the desire to stay indoors, surrounded by warm things, listening to the rain outside, the slight knowledge of petrichor in the air. There is also an air of possibility: How do we pass this time, now that we’ve chosen for the world to be indoors? I chose to spend some time with my pal Grady Chambers, a fantastic poet I’ve known for years, whose novel Great Disasters has been keeping a warm spot on my TBR shelf for some odd months. The novel focuses on a friend group, a set of boys from high school with 9/11 and the impending wars as backdrops as they grow into themselves. Grady has always had a beautiful sense of narrative in his poems, a quality of “writing as if to a close friend.” I feel that quality immensely, carrying this story along my commute to the office and back to my couch. Here is a book I can open and fall into immediately. Shut out the buzz of the world for awhile and let another world unfold.

Yes, you read (and are seeing) that right.

I happened to scroll through Instagram Thursday night and found this post from Magnolia Bakery announcing the last week of their carrot cake pudding, “bursting with carrots, coconut, pineapple, raisins, and walnuts.” (That’s what they said!) This thrilled me. Quite a few years ago I bought Magnolia Bakery’s banana bread pudding for Thanksgiving (alongside some pie). It was not my first rodeo with it, but an occasion nevertheless. It’s been a rare treat since, especially as I’m not close to one or make it a point to stop by as part of my normal commute. (And well, we know I go to other places for many treats, like cookies.)

Here’s the thing: Magnolia Bakery is known for their pudding, yes, but also their cupcakes. And I find the cupcakes to be fine?! I haven’t sought one out since the last time I had one (years and years ago). Perhaps it’s the frosting to cake ratio, the sweetness ratio, but something just doesn’t “wow” me about them. A shame.

But the pudding: creamy, packed with flavor, soft yet chewy due to the wafers. I’ve developed an odd allergy to bananas (the last one I had made by chest tight), so I haven’t dared experiment with them since. So when I saw the carrot cake pudding, I knew this would be my opportunity to treat myself to a touch of nostalgia (sup pudding) with a lot of love (for carrot cake) without fear of an allergic reaction (bananas). And well, it’s always fun to treat yourself after a quick errand run.

The description was so true: a perfect balance of cake, plump raisin, texture from the carrots and coconut, a surprise sweetness of pineapple. The pudding adding that luxury from a frosting (this one, of course, not being cream cheese, so not tangy or overbearing. Just a delightful pudding with moist cake!).

I already saw that one location has stopped serving it. I saw comments asking for them to bring it back in October. With spring, I get that carrot cake hits its ripe time now—and like the seasons, all good things come to pass. So this special treat will be replaced with something more “spring” (rumor of a blueberry lemon concoction, or a strawberry). But I think carrot cake cupcakes and actual slices of cake may be available—and since I actually pass one on my way from the chiropractor, perhaps I’ll find an opportunity to work a slice in to my treat budget.

And Now, We Further the Plot: Your Literary Rec

I’m currently reading Ilana Masad’s novel, Beings. There’s a trio of stories: the (true story!) of a couple abducted by aliens in 1961, letters from Phyllis to her beloved Rosa, and an Archivist, who works through both stories as they figure out what occurred in their childhood. Each story touches on aliens, and alienation—the idea of the alien abduction narrative, and how strange encounters and experiences impact our sense of self and community, our relationship with loved ones. I’m enjoying the ride so far (and have less than 100 pages left): I truly care about each character and am rooting for them all.

Food influencer Mike Chau (of Food Baby, where he showcases meals with his lovely family)’s post was making the rounds: Not a critique of him at all, but of a new wine bar in Greenpoint. The first photo captioned with “Great rotisserie chicken,” the next showing the chicken getting dressed by a gravy boat of au jus. The third slide: the chicken with three different sauces (perhaps a chimichurri or salsa verde, an aioli of sorts, the au jus/gravy situation with a tiny spoon). Gorgeous. Then, right above the bowls, the influencer captions:

Half Chicken ($40).

I continue to scroll: Bread & Butter for $8 (four slices of toasted bread, a swipe of butter on the plate’s navy edge). Chicken liver mousse for $12 (okay, this… looks decent, with four even toastier bits of bread and mousse). Beetroot carpaccio for $12 (how deep does the bowl go? Gorgeous colors). Sandwich “Kip Kerrie” for $15 (average sandwich prices these days, but I think… it’s an egg salad sandwich with cabbage slaw?!). And then, the photo that takes me completely out: Rice with drippings ($10).

Yes, you are seeing that correctly, but let me explain: It looks to be about a half cup of rice with a dark spot right in the middle. The spot about the size of a half dollar. How deep does the bowl go? Did the drippings drip down? Is there a layer to then mix deeper across all the grains?

I read through the comments. Of course one about the half chicken has replies upon replies. One user says “we haven’t even discussed the $8 bread with decorative butter smear, like the idea of butter.”

The idea of butter—how poetic.

Another user replies “I’m going to be honest, this post made me cancel my reservation.”

Another: “Babe you’ve hardly touched your $10 dippy rice (one tear sad emoji).”

I also happened upon a story by a pastry chef I follow, who screenshot a text conversation with an anonymous pal captioned “some perspective for you…” The first text: “For half a chicken, at 30% food cost our chicken would be $38.50.” A reply: “30% is barely covering it. AND that’s JUST the chicken.”

I wish I kept receipts from even two years ago to understand how much inflation has impacted all of us. Extra large eggs in New York now cost $5.49. Trader Joe’s changes the packaging of chicken from four thighs to three (granted, weight is a thing). Bananas were 19 cents—now they’re 23. And while these small changes seem small, everything piles up: It costs about $150-200 every weekend for groceries, depending on what household staples we need (like this weekend’s olive oil bottle for $10.99 that will last a while. Or the $3.99 bag of rolled oats that lasts around 3 weeks).

While I slow cook some chicken breasts I got for $6.49 (for shredding onto a $0.99 sweet potato I’ll roast alongside most of the $1.99 broccoli crowns), I think about the ways we’ve made the most of our meals.

There is a particular joy of figuring out how to make your own affogato (thanks Trader Joe’s! And honestly, these mini affogatos are incredible—nondairy vanilla ice cream with instant coffee. Open the coffee, pour it into the premade ice cream well, heat up some water, pour water onto coffee, wait and enjoy). The joy in figuring out ramen from a whole ramen packet, looking up how to elevate an egg (for my first time trying to get jammy, not bad!). Topping that ramen with a bit of wagyu (on a portioned price). Of enjoying the delights in a burger made by your beloved, topped with tomato and lettuce, a bit of barbecue sauce, and a good ol’ bag of crinkle cut fries after a long day outside.

This week for work, I’m going to meal prep some zucchini noodles with ground turkey and some sauces I bought a few weeks ago (3 meals at least averaging about $3/serving). We’re waiting on an order of spices that we’ll use across so many meals (Jamaican jerk, cajun, grilled chicken, and some smoked salt and black garlic salt to add a little magic).

A leap, but stay with me: When I was laid off from a job a few years ago, my beloved said to still make room for treats. To not feel guilty about the occasional moment outside, where a latte or a cookie can be enjoyed. But I also know how to shift those costs toward a bigger “bang for the buck” (hello to those ready-made cookies I mentioned). That’s because when we’re outside, we’ll be able to treat ourselves in the moment—and enjoy the sweetness right then and there.

Will that treat be drippy rice? Half a chicken? No. But it will be delicious.

And Now, We Further the Plot: Your Literary Rec

Speaking of past prices, I took a moment to go backwards in Lauren Groff’s work and read her debut novel, The Monsters of Templeton. Safe to say, I loved it: A beautiful novel that hinges on mystery, where the protagonist, Willie Upton, has to unravel her family history to figure out who her father is. There’s also other fun: the characters are bright and funny. There’s deep friendship and love throughout. There’s a whole lake monster! And a ghost! And running buds, a chorus of guys who run together! Honestly, what a ride of a novel—I think of it fondly.

We have a circuit: cordless jump ropes, then weighted ball throws, then weight work (which includes squats and curls). Each round varies, our time between each round getting faster as we’ve repeated this workout for months now.

We take Sundays as our prep day: the long workout spills into shorter (by about an hour… and that includes stretching/warming up), focused work throughout the week: lower vs. upper body, arms/shoulders, leg day, etc.(Our rest day from exercise is Saturday.)

And yes, we cook a lot a home. And yes, we enjoy so many treats.

My being out of town led to a usual dilemma: an uneven carton of eggs. We each eat 3 eggs whenever we make a “hot breakfast” (… oatmeal is a hot breakfast, but we don’t have eggs with it. Savory breakfast, then). So what do you do when you have eggs to use? Make a cake.

Two weeks ago, we went to the market and perused the cake mix aisle. And we saw Pillsbury’s “Moist Supreme” variety. Yes, we laughed, but also said “OK that’s the cake for us.” My beloved requested yellow cake, and today was the day I baked it. And paired it with some vegan ice cream. And felt like I was having my own little party. (It’s actually one of my best friend’s birthdays today—so happy birthday, Michael!)

And not for lack of treats: the oven was already set at the same temperature for some cookies.

While we love a Levain cookie, there are times when we don’t want to spend $6 on a cookie. So I’ve turned to Pillsbury ready-to-bake in times of need. And the need this week was for these Oreo studded baddies. They are honestly such a delight. We’re not huge chocolate people, but a chocolate chip cookie is acceptable. An Oreo pieces cookie is very acceptable.

But there was also Saturday, when, after a very late lunch of ground turkey and mozzarella sandwiches and a salad (shout out to Trader Joe’s spinach cranberry complete mix—seriously, the orange vinaigrette is lovely), we wanted a bit of something sweet. Carlos went to Grand Heritage Bakery, and acquired a few treats: a blueberry muffin I enjoyed for breakfast, followed by us splitting an almond croissant and apple crumb danish (which, again, I paired with some ice cream and a quick forkful of salted caramel sauce).

Honestly, this was such a slam dunk of a pairing. The almond croissant was packed with marzipan, and I love a studded almond top. The apple crumb danish was perfectly spiced, the apples warm, the salted caramel added that extra layer of savory sweetness thanks to the salt, the caramel flavor itself added another note of butter and sugar.

Is this me parading in balance? Perhaps. When I look at these pictures I think of the joy, present and future. Of planning. Of enjoying when the whim hits. Of sticking to routines. Of sweetness at the end.

And Now, We Further the Plot: Your Literary Rec

My brain has been lightning lately, in that I’ve been able to devour 300-400 pages over two weeks. (OK so yes, math it out to an average of 150 pages a week.) I split my time between poetry and prose, but the prose has been exquisite lately. I finished my last book on my flight home, and immediately began Lauren Groff’s newest short story collection, Brawler. It had been set out early by the bookstore Baum (aka birthday boy today) and I went to, and I knew it was meant to be. (I’m trying to work through my literal TBR shelf of prose… and another shelf with poetry, which means I should ideally not be buying more books before I get through my other books, but I digress! Again, the treats of the future—why deny myself?!).

Which is all to say: Lauren Groff is one of my favorite authors. Brawler is an incredible short story collection, full of characters that feel deeply realized in “short” spaces. There are ample questions around morality, of care, of balance between our better angels (and darker still). My favorite story changes mostly every day, but one that made feel a guttural, true longing is “Birdie,” where a group of girlfriends gather and discuss “the worst thing they’ve ever done.” The way I felt this story in my chest, the range of emotions and surprise at how everything unfurls… It was truly heartwarming (and reading that description, you would think it wouldn’t be!). It made me want to grab my best friend’s hand and have us sit together in silence, just being us, knowing and loving all the versions of ourselves that we’ve encountered and have yet to encounter still.

Well, always me, but in transit. I describe travel as that sort of Disneyland excitement: once I’m at my destination, I’m ready to engage. I think of who will be around, sure, only because, like the onion, I have layers. I shift between marketing lingo and poetics. I speak in inside jokes, depending on the company.

I went to San Diego recently to celebrate my mother’s retirement from over 25 years of teaching in special education and inclusion. I felt like a child: the middle daughter, my sisters also there to enjoy the moments of nostalgia before us, the (as my mother says, lovingly) “precious moments” as a family. (Shout out also to the Precious Moment dolls I loved, with their big teardrop eyes.) I felt like a child: making plans with my best friends from fourth grade and middle school to quickly catch up while still being home in time to say goodnight. I felt like a child: not being able to see every friend or family member (I’ve learned that six days is never enough). I felt like a child: grabbing my father’s arm, giving my mother a hug.

Let me say that my mother’s years in the classroom taught me so much about kindness. I used to help out in her first classroom (considering I was a child, at the school she worked at, and we still had some time before her workday ended). My summers in undergrad were spent working as an inclusion specialist at camp, helping younger children understand that kindness could be found everywhere, that we can simply sit with people and understand that it’s okay to see and experience the world differently. I understood the desire for these children to take breaks away from activities or find moments to destress, to walk away from overstimulation. How many times have I turned toward reality TV, books, music, writing—how many times have I shut something off, even the world, to tune into something that would calm me?

I learned beautiful skills from my mother: a moment of calm at the dinner table with a cup of tea. I’ve witnessed her joy in embracing something like shopping with the joy of going “on the hunt” for deals at the thrift store. To relax under the blanket, even when there is always more to do—to allow the space for rest.

Yes, of course I showed up with a list of restaurants and coffee shops and snacks and trinkets I wanted to go to and shop at. But there is truly something joyous about a home-cooked meal.

Growing up, we spent many evenings with a meatloaf. Meatloaf, carrots, sweet and russet potatoes, cooked together until perfectly roasted. Now, growing up, we were actually not a ketchup on the meatloaf family—but this edition had it in three long strips. There, but not enough to take away from the quality of the meat, to drive it toward sweetness.

This meatloaf was truly fantastic. I’m not sure what the recipe is, but… it tasted of home. It brought me into the comfort of eating this, well, comfort meal. The carrots with their perfect sweetness. My father’s version had whole sweet potatoes, peeled and cooked to softness. I still got the perfect softness with the potato rounds, a touch of jus and crisp edges that met the parchment pans. And the two russets still gave a sense of roasted (still soft) potato—just with some lightly salted skin to meet the fluffy russet.

I believe, between seven of us, the entire pan was gone (or perhaps a few stray potatoes remained). As my beloved sits beside me now, I imagine the day I’ll recreate it with him.

And Now, We Further the Plot: Your Literary Rec

Let me tell you about the joy of reading Elaine Hsieh Chou’s short story collection, Where Are You Really From. Turns out Elaine also went to my undergrad (University of California, Irvine—zot zot!). It’s one of those things where, like my quick jaunt back in San Diego, I felt that jolt of familiarity: you experienced this, too. What exquisite company I experienced on my flights to and from San Diego, where I got to softly chuckle or try and keep myself together. These stories ranged in situations, of course, some slightly moving toward the absurd, those taut borders of “This could easily happen in real life, and perhaps has, and perhaps like this.” And this is what I loved: the ability to look at these characters and, despite their situations, still get to deeply know their hearts and minds. Truly, it’s a book that I’m planning on recommending many, many times over.

I thought about going Friday night, but my beloved and I had dinner plans… and well, I had to work through work things during the day.

I walked in “what felt like -2 degrees” (according to my phone) yesterday morning. A security guard blocked the escalator down, saying the lines were too long in Trader Joe’s. I decided to go toward the elevator, then decided to pass the time upstairs. A woman came over, and said “Who will stop me from going in?” and I wished her well.

After some browsing upstairs, I decided to go back and check the Trader Joe’s situation, so to speak. The escalators were cleared, people going down. After telling my beloved I would finally go to Trader Joe’s as intended, I took the elevator. I knew I would lose service, being at the bottom of the world (well, a grocery story below ground).

Yes, the line was winding. I heard a worker say, “You’re going to pass each section! Just shop as you go!” But this logic is actually a failure when one goes to Trader Joe’s. You need to park your cart and go to the top sections: the meats, the eggs, the breads. I immediately grabbed some salads, since that is what greets me. I push the cart into an aisle, then traversed the lines to the breads. Then, back to the vegetables. Then the bars. Another parking job: to the meats! Another parking job: the eggs! And once I felt like I hit what I needed, I joined the line.

From there, I sent the following list to my friend Danielle:

• Uptown Funk is honestly such a jam

• To follow it up with *NSYNC’s “Gone” is a wild move on a playlist

• Praying to the cheese gods as I approach the cheese section for Colby Jack

• Wow people really cleaned out all the prepared bowls and soups!

• Thank goodness I grabbed eggs early cause now they’re out

• Plenty of Colby, hallelujah

• The nicest worker telling people jokes and that there are, indeed, two lines

• No raviolis outside of veggie

• Thank goodness I got shredded cheese for cheaper upstairs... And green enchilada sauce

• Thank goodness I grabbed ground beef as one of my first items before joining this line. The woman next to me at the time asked if I’ve ever had the kosher beef—and I said, “Well, yes, and today guess we have no other choice for beef!”

• Should have started a timer but I’ve been in TJ’s at least an hour. (Edit to add my total time was about 80 minutes.)

• Impulse grab of fresh salsa will make the enchiladas awesome

• A+ to me to getting chicken and ground turkey early, too. And bread!

• To be a child eating directly from a bag of small cheese sandwich crackers.

• Poor abandoned chicken wrap among the turmeric

• Poor tabouli with the holiday cards!!!

• At last, cellphone signal sorta came through!

• Hooray for a guy running to get a cantaloupe

My cashier told me that Friday was also high traffic. She told me one person was rude, complaining about something spilling on the ground. I witnessed a man groan at the prepared foods—barely any “just chicken” slices left, some soups, a small amount of salads. But the cashier said, beyond that interaction, everyone was kind—and everyone, especially that Saturday, was kind. I wished her well as I left.

My friend Ron texted me and asked how prepared I was. He also sent a dispatch from his Trader Joe’s: They were out of pizzas! I told him about the frozen bowls. He sent another picture of egg rolls, ginger snaps, and ice cream from another store. I told him he was well on his way to a fantastic appetizer of egg rolls then an ice cream sandwich or sundae.

This is a two-day storm. And yes, it will lead to ice (I heard the ice hit my window a few hours ago). The cold sometimes makes us anxious toward “But what if I crave this?” or “What if I wanted this now?” I leaned into the usual suspects, added on a recipe (hello enchiladas), and bought some treats while we were out grabbing dinner the night before. For balance, of course.

And Now, We Further the Plot: Your Literary Rec

Yes I am reading books but I am more entranced by one I haven’t read: Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights. It was never required reading! Yet here I am, joining the fray in the utter obsession over the movie. A movie based on a book! A movie about yearning! If you watch the trailers, there is FASHION and a scene where bread is kneaded over and over with flashbacks to, yes, YEARNING. I understand that it is also about revenge and jealousy, but the marketing team has clearly leaned into the yearning, the Gothic romance, the infamous “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” The “So kiss me. Let us both be damned.” (Apparently there is a lot of this relationship in the book that isn’t actually romantic and veers more toxic, but again… it is doing the work for the movie!!!) And the haunting choice of the quotation marks around the title—“Wuthering Heights”—as if it could be an adaptation to what end. Will it differ from the book? Who knows! Will the soundtrack be incredible? Yes, absolutely, with Charli XCX at the helm. (Here’s “Wall of Sound” which I’ll be playing on repeat.)

Cookies are a treat that, perhaps, many of us have had throughout our lives. During a year in undergrad, I survived off cookies. A friend and I would meet for tea and a treat before classes at least once a week, and that would be my breakfast or lunch some days. I would stop by the Coffee Bean I worked at to see what pastries would be left for the night. I would hope that, along with a cookie or two, a vendor in the shopping center would give me a discount.

As a childhood non-chocoholic (and an adult non-chocoholic, honestly), I was everyone’s favorite because yes, they got more chocolate during Halloween, but more importantly if chocolate cookies were around, they knew I would not be touching them. My favorites were the little Grandma’s Sandwich Vanilla Cremes, those tiny vanilla cookies in a bag. Granted, these were pre-vanilla Oreos (and even then, I think I’m choosing Grandma’s!).

Of course, I was an oatmeal raisin girl. Oatmeal without raisins?! tragic. Oatmeal raisin with nuts?! Tragic. (Now I’m good, depending on what’s going on with the cookie! But usually if it’s just oatmeal raisin, no nuts is preferred!) Oatmeal chocolate chip?! Nah. (Except okay wait maybe a white chocolate chip and cranberry? Just another type of raisin! And white chocolate isn’t technically chocolate.)

Which leads me perfectly into discussing Martha Stewart’s Ultimate Kitchen Sink cookie.

Martha’s ultimate kitchen sink cookie has rolled oats, dark chocolate, coconut, sour cherries, apricots, and toasted pecans. This is adult Carly’s dream, like a jazzed up version of what oatmeal cookies could be. I do like dark chocolate (I discovered this as a barista when I was too polite to tell my trainer that I don’t like chocolate, but needed to taste the featured hot chocolate and chai & chocolate croissant pairing. It was a magical evening). I love a sour cherry and apricot—still chewy, slightly sweet. I looooove coconut (texture!). And yes, toasted pecans, my favorite, a slight vanilla from the pecan, not overwhelming like a peanut. You can get these cookies from maman, a coffee shop and bakery on the East Coast, as part of Martha’s collab with them all winter.

And lest we forget, and may my NY bakery post above remind you: we’re back in coffee toffee cookie season from Levain.

Yes, the image is the same as last year’s—a picture so nice I’m using it twice. The cookie still is everything I want, and again, against childhood Carly’s wishes: this dark chocolate cookie dough has espresso, so it’s not just chocolate all the way through. There is nuance to it, a depth from the espresso. Then those delightful toffee bits: vanilla crunch. There’s something really delightful about the bottom of the cookie, where you see bits of melted toffee. I have had two so far this season, and cannot stop telling people to go get this cookie if you can!

I also tried their toffee latte, and whewwwww. Levain uses some dark espresso. The barista took quite a while to lovingly make the drink, too (bless her), and I got to see the labor of scooping some fresh whip cream and sprinkling toffee bits (which would sink to the bottom of the cup and melt a touch, yet retain some crunch). Would I get the drink again? I don’t think so, BUT maybe I need to try an iced version (except that it is very cold out here, and definitely snowing this weekend, so iced drinks won’t be in my future for some time).

Now these are two cookies I will truly wake up early for (if I had to). I am planning on going out tomorrow (hello day off), and will be stopping by my local Levain.

Speaking of waking up, let me fall into childhood, again, briefly: There is a tale of loving cookies so much, we would wake for them. My older sister fell asleep on the couch, and nothing would wake her… except for my little sister finally saying “Cookies” and my older sister saying “Where?”

And Now, We Further the Plot: Your Literary Rec

Nostalgia is rife during the winter months—I mean, the trend of looking back at 2016 is very present among us! Gabrielle Zevin’s Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow was the first book I read this year (after having it on my TBR shelf for about 1.5 years), and holy heck. I read it in 10 days, which, for a 400-page novel, is like running a marathon for my reading patterns/habits. It moves fast, truly: a tale of two friends from childhood who share a love for video games and decide to collaborate. It’s a love story, too—of friendship, yes, but the way their love for things and people and each other changes over the years. I can’t stop thinking about it. When my beloved tells me about his stats on an RPG (currently The Division II), the side missions, the timing of retaliations from other factions, I listen with ease. I look at game engines and think of Zevin’s Sam and Sadie, of the engineers building toward worlds, the upkeep. The Division II has been going on and getting updated for seven years, which means there is a dedicated team updating and debugging at all times. To them. To the players. To the joy of nostalgia and snacks we have while gaming.

Or the lasagna. Or ziti. Or sausage and peppers in another dish. Or the chips!

I brought logs of goat cheese. One covered with cranberries, the other with blueberries, flavored with vanilla.

And yes, they were the goat cheese logs from Trader Joe’s. That I brought with brioche toasts and pumpkin and cranberry toasts.

And no one ate them. (Well, I did take one brioche toast and plop some cranberry goat cheese on it. To enjoy the bounty.)

Is this a complaint? No! I brought the goods home. Except I opened them at the office potluck, hoping that if opened, people would dive in.

But why would you go for cold cheese spread on toasts when it is lunchtime, and you’re hungry, and warm lasagna and ziti are readily available? Not to mention to-go containers full of wings, separated by flavor (lemon pepper, barbecue, buffalo) with sweet potato waffle fries?

Did you know that, once, Trader Joe’s sold a very good brie dip? Brie with sun-dried tomatoes and pesto. Meant to be served cold, each layer distinct. I think the dip hasn’t been around for… a few years, perhaps even longer. But I remember it fondly when my aunt and my sisters would gather around it with little slices of bread and consume the entire bowl (erm, container).

Here was the logic: I wanted to bring something portable. I take the subway to work, a two train, 30 minute commute. I can’t be bopping around the busy commuting times with large Tupperware! I can’t bring something that may pack the office fridge! Or require much assembly! It needed to be approachable, not sweet (we already had two people offering cookies and Reindeer chow), not require an oven. Minimal prep. Minimal worry. So I bought the toasts and placed them in my backpack, put the goat cheese logs into a separate baggy in my tote (to avoid potentially getting smooshed by items in my backpack).

I placed everything out. And again, lunchtime. Warm cheesy pastas. Warm wings. The salad (catered) was not touched, either. I hope someone brought it home with them, but I went home with my cheese and toasts.

So what does one do with two goat cheese logs and ample toasts? Well, you can eat them as intended. I could buy a few charcuterie items and go to town. I bought some ground turkey and dream of a “Thanksgiving style” turkey burger with cranberry goat cheese. The blueberry is a different story, but one nevertheless.

A potluck is truly the luck of the draw. The people. Their tastes. Their decisions. Budget, yes. Other circumstances (ease of transportation, preparation, skills in the kitchen). With another crowd, the cheeses would be gone. But now I plan to feast on the bounty of plenty of goat cheese.

And Now, We Further the Plot: Your Literary Rec

Ohhhhh goodness. I’m not hitting my reading goal this year (and didn’t last year, either). A testament to other things pulling my attention: work, yes, television shows, absolutely, Princess Peach Showtime (which I need to get back into), other games. I will say the commute to and from an office adds at least 10-20 pages to my day. I usually bring fiction (and have been reading longer fiction as of late). But when I work from home, I may lean into a quick break between the end of the work day and making dinner with poetry. The writing this year has been slow, which I welcome, but I miss the way language used to feel so present. Like I could hold its hand immediately. Cecily Parks’ newest collection,. The Seeds, is helping me feel a slight tug toward poetry again. This poem. “Harvest,” pulls so much from the earth, from the moments we form as we watch loved ones connect with their surroundings, “… as if the grass / Were a feeling they’d been feeling…” I’m feeling a sense of green, a sense of language beckoning me back with some clear-sighted urgency that I haven’t felt for months. May it continue to grow.

Why say this now? Because I’ve felt this title in my bones for a bit. Because yes, it’s a famous phrase (the opening line, in fact) from Langston Hughes’ “Harlem.” And I was on my way toward actually realizing a long held dream, a dream that I’ve deferred for reasons known and unknown.

I was finally making my way to Hamburger America. I’ve been following them on the good ol’ gram since the very beginning, learning about the founder George Motz and his documentary on burgers. Watching the monthly specials come and go. Acknowledging, gleefully, that it was recently added to the New York Times’ 100 Best Restaurants list!

It wasn’t about needing an occasion to finally make the pilgrimage to the burger mecca. But having one makes a meal shine a touch brighter. The occasion became my father being in town. A man who loves ambience, good food, “happenings” (another way of ambience, perhaps, but I mean in terms of the liveliness of crowds, other diners, entertainment, etc.). I figured the dining counter, open kitchen, diner feel would be up his alley. And hey, who among the red meat eaters doesn’t want to experience a “best burger in New York”?

You are immediately greeted and given options: For the counter, you can wait for an open seat. Or, you can go ahead and order at the counter, then sit yourself in a back dining room. We were hungry, so opted for the latter. My father, ever the extrovert, chatted up tourists as he looked around the yellow dining room, the walls scattered with newspaper clippings from Motz’s adventures around the states, his own search for the best burgers across the nation. My father, ever the extrovert, ended up getting us a table once his new friends left.

Our food arrived: two classic cheeseburgers “all the way” (mustard, pickles, cheese, onion if you please), the special of the month (the Carolina slaw burger, topped with beef and a dollop of coleslaw), and fries. To drink, we got ourselves some Arnold Palmers, the sweet mix of lemonade and iced tea that didn’t teeter into too sweet territory.

We experienced an immediate “uh oh, oops” disappointment: the classic burgers didn’t get the “all the way” treatment, but we were also not necessarily wanting to return them. We started eating the fries, and they were fine. Potatoes, cut and fried with little salt. Little flavor. The ketchup not adding much beyond just sweetness. The burgers, also fine: little flavor in the patties. My father, with his Carolina slaw burger, saying “This is fine. Chili is good. But this is fine. These fries, fine.”

Can you sense my disappointment? I hyped this place up, placed it on a pedestal, worshipped at the altar of Instagram scrolling, reel watching, carousel swiping, all for it to come crashing down at my feet.

Would dessert redeem us?

Redemption in a slice of key lime pie. Being October, we just passed key lime season by a month. But seasonality hasn’t always dictated my cravings. Hence, ordering a slice for dessert. Watching it as I worked through a mediocre burger and fries. Questioned my life choices. The first bite made me say, “Don’t worry.” The second said, “Look, this is a good piece of pie!” The third said “Yes, enjoy this sweet piece of lime. Cause life today gave you some limes.”

Cut to literally yesterday: My father called in a nostalgic mood. Recounting his brief visit to the city. To our diner excursion where he said, “That was good!” I think that’s when it hit me most: Despite all of us in our grievances, saying “This is fine” like the dog in the fiery room, I got to enjoy the sweet company of my beloved and my father. Of the raucous laughter. Another type of satisfaction. A slice of life, all mine.

And Now, We Further the Plot: Your Literary Rec

Leila Chatti’s second book of poetry, Wildness Before Something Sublime, is truly sublime. Leila’s debut collection, Deluge, brought me out of the fog of inability to read or think of poems at the beginning of the pandemic. The second collection has pulled another type of attention and magic out of me, again, in a season where poems feel farther than ever before (despite celebrating a new collection out in the world, one built out of friendship). Leila’s newest book written out of her own sense of inability to write or think in poems, of leaning into the night and unconscious poem-making mind, the mind wrought with dream logic. I am in another state of deferment toward the dream—and this book is slowly getting me toward realizing it again.

I remember the summer Mag and I worked on our zine together: It had been a difficult summer (it was the onset of the pandemic, in fact). Questions were everywhere, and people found themselves at home, posting everything, desperate for connection outside of their homes. Chen and I were having a necessary conversation—not worth rehashing, but worth mentioning. It led us toward realizing I hadn’t really interacted with Mag outside of knowing we both mutually liked each other’s presence on the internet and our poems. (Oh the heydays of “literary Twitter” and the oddities of pandemic Twitter and comms! All we could sense were vibes and click on links!) Chen chatted with Mag, Mag reached out, and we embarked on what would become our zine, “Shadow Poppets.”

When people say poems can save people, this was one of those times. I’m not one to look down on that sentiment—I spent many nights and days reading poems that somehow say something I couldn’t say, that broke something open in me to look toward, reach for, express. Shock and awe, gratitude for the gifts of language and the mind in motion. Mag and I watched our minds at work, sending emails at how excited we were to write together. In the making, I found a sense of peace, of rhythm, my mind at work, heart open.

So many summers ago, and still so many texts and joyous celebrations. And then, an email: how about collecting the zines in a book? AND WHAT A BOOK. It’s honestly gorgeous, and not just because I’m a small part of it.

Going out to Dallas to celebrate this book was incredible. But when would the next time I’d have the opportunity to finally—finally—try Texas barbecue?

This is going to be a longer preamble than you, dear reader, are used to.

As a Food Network child, I’ve watched so many barbecue shows. As an adult with Netflix, I’ve affixed myself to as many food shows as possible. Which brings us to Barbecue Showdown. Literally barbecue pit masters brought together to do what they do best: cook some meat, make some sides, adhere to a theme on occasion. It’s a beautiful show. I watched the third season a few months back (funny enough, I’d put it on in the mornings as I worked out at home), and two Texas chefs were on it. To hear these chefs discuss the tenderness of their work: the care of seasoning, of placing the produce and meat over flame, coaxing it to be its very best—isn’t that, oddly, what friendship can also be? When our feet are to the fire, we can grab onto each other, trust that we’re working toward care and our best selves. (Or maybe this is a moment toward the poetry workshop, who knows.)

Regardless, my mind has been filled with ideas about Texas barbecue. Being from California then moving to New York, I only know barbecue through the local spots available to me.

When you see this platter from Terry Black’s Barbecue—one of the top barbecue spots in Texas, with multiple locations across the state—you’ll see what I mean when I say holy heck, so this is what it’s really like.

We built this platter: Entered the restaurant and walked through the line of sides. Carlos chose creamed corn and green beans, while I chose potato salad, said yes to the pickled onions and pickles, said absolutely to cornbread. We then sauntered over to the meats, glistening with promise, waiting to be cut. We each got a slice of brisket and one rib each.

In terms of platter building, we had so many other options and directions to go in. Sausages aplenty. Smoked turkey. Mac and cheese. While eyes grew with hunger, we know our discipline. Like in poem-making, you must look at what you deem necessary: in the economy of language, each word costs to be there. In the economy of barbecue, our platter served our base needs—and soon enough, our dreams.

The cornbread was slightly dry, I’ll admit. But the creamed corn was perfection: not too milky, slight touch of paprika for some smoke, the sweetness of corn capturing some sense of summer still. Green beans were bright, crunchy, slightly acidic. Potato salad having the sense of freshly cooked potato, still some chew, cold and again, paprika cutting through the dressing. The pickles we ended up ignoring (so sorry, pickles, you must have been perfect to cut through the meats).

Terry Black’s has three barbecue sauces: original/OG, spicy, and sweet. We tried and liked them in that order. I normally enjoy a thicker sauce, but Terry Black’s were perfect: enough body to be there, but not distracting from the unctuousness of the meat. Notes of vinegar for tang. Slight smoke from chili powder.

The brisket had bark like a dream. Smoky, not too peppery. Truly cutting like butter. The ribs was filling, fall off the bone tender—and again, the spice on the ribs was already delicious.

We left at the perfect point of satiation: full enough to go and enjoy poems, hungry enough to dream of going back to try more. (And well, plan a whole barbecue tour!)

And Now, We Further the Plot: Your Literary Rec

Isn’t it clear that you should get Spotted Ponies: The Collected Zines?! It’s seriously such a beautiful book. The entire Dallas trip solidified the joy that poetry brings into my life—and no doubt how it brought me to these incredible poets.

So where—and how—does one calm a nervous system?

My beloved noticed that, after dinner, at home, I’ll reach out and touch his calf. A gesture of comfort: Food comforts me. His presence comforts me. Perhaps this gesture connects the two (outside of us enjoying many meals together). A sense of home and comfort, an ease out of the day’s needs into the evening.

Yet the world is full of stimuli—so how do you calm yourself out in the world? Going about your errands, do you stop for a treat? Sit in a known cafe? You cannot necessarily grab your partner’s calf, for example (but hey, if that’s your thing and it’s with consent, by all means!). I typically plan some type of bookstore visit. If it’s errands where it’s not bag-essential or heavy (like a grocery run), I’ll budget a treat. Grocery-run, perhaps a new drink to try, something special to cook.

What this all amounts to may be a type of ambiance: There is too much world happening—and we can’t look away. Yet to survive, we must find small pockets of time toward other possibilities. I stepped into Bella Luna on the Upper West Side recently, and fell into its ambiance immediately: A calm bustle, a step away from the typically busy row of restaurants and shops. I slipped my phone into “Do Not Disturb” (outside of gathering pictures to remember this sense of calm against the last moments of New York humidity). I settled into my seat under wicker-basket lamp shades hanging from the ceiling, wooden tables, a small table lamp with just enough light to light menus and food in a warm glow.

There are always the options to lean into seasonal delights, classic beverages, or the “classics with a twist.” Our drinks lean into that last category: I imbibed in a passionfruit mule, the sweetness of passionfruit adding a tropical twist aligned with the lime and ginger beer. He got a “Fig & Fire,” a twist on an old fashioned with walnut bitters, fig puree, and a presentation where smoked rosemary unfurls in front of you. His advice: Let the smoke settle so every flavor mellows and mixes with each other. The immediate sip will always be heavier in smoke, but the sweetness comes through eventually.

I forgot to take a picture of plain bread, which we dipped in the above small bowl of olive oil. An interlude of bread—but not really, as it was the beginning of the meal. And we continued our “bread course,” our “appetizer of bread” course, with a seasonal peach and burrata bruschetta. Whole torn burrata, grilled fresh peaches, oranges, olive oil, and balsamic glaze over toast, with mint or basil also on top. What a delight this dish was: touches of sweetness, acidity, the fruit providing slight firmness and texture. The surprise of the orange! It was like a perfect “summer into fall” dish, balanced with the acidity of the balsamic to cut ever so gently.

To continue the seasonal bridge from season to season, we enjoyed a Sicilian salad and mussels. The salad—a masterful mix of fennel, radicchio, lettuce, capers, and olives tossed in olive oil, topped with truly handfuls of whole parmesan, served with lemons on the side. It was briny from the olive, bitter with radicchio, the fennel sweet and licorice, a touch of cream from the parmesan. A salad that I dream about in its simplicity.

But the mussels were the star of all the appetizers—and dare we say, the meal itself. A sleeper hit. Simply prepared in a spicy tomato sauce with garlic and white wine, which also lifts the sauce and dish from seemingly heavy potential to the lightness it had. Yes, we used tiny forks, opened the shells slightly wider to get to the mussel itself. The effort, the task, was worth it: another slight brine, an acidity from tomato and white wine, yet depth. Appetizers from land to sea, so to speak. I would go for the mussels immediately again—perhaps enjoy my own bowl (but also, why would I when I can share and have room for another dish).

When temperatures drop, there are perhaps two dishes I long for: chili and lasagna. One of the listed specials was, indeed, and as expected at an Italian restaurant, a homemade lasagna, composed of a beef and veal meat sauce, ricotta, mozzarella, and tomato sauce. Yes, you can quickly tell the difference between the sauce from the mussels and this saucy lasagna.

When you really crave something, you know exactly what you want it to be. For lasagna, I wanted a sense of layers, the melt of cheese, a bite not too overpowering in its meat elements, so to speak. Dare I say moist (I dare). We wanted to save room, so we had a hearty bite (I had two) and packed the rest for home. Verdict on lasagna as a leftover: Yes, forever perfect.

Now, you see why I tried to save room.

I ordered the braised lamb shank and didn’t expect this behemoth of a shank! My goodness. Braised lamb shank, served with fresh parpadelle pasta and lamb jus, carrots and celery and onion thrown about. There is something about barely touching a braised meat and it giving under the simple weight and pull of a fork. I only sufficed a few bites, but they were glorious. And yes, it ended up as another leftover dish—which I thoroughly enjoyed the next day.

My beloved’s filet was excellent. The simple sides of spinach and roasted potato (perfectly roasted, I might add) allowed the star of the dish to be the filet. It was seasoned simply, too: salt and pepper to let the meat shine. A kiss of grill, a kiss of char.

I can say with confidence that this is, at least from what I’ve enjoyed throughout the city, the best tiramisu. Simple in presentation—a slight chocolate sauce drizzle, a strawberry and mint on top—you can see every classic layer of lady fingers soaked in espresso and liquor and mascarpone, the final touch of cocoa powder on the top. I’m telling you, the foundation, the layers, all equal and solid and perfect. There was never an odd bite, a bite without delight.

Let it be known that my beloved and I visited Bella Luna five years ago. We remembered it being good—and this visit was nothing short of perfect. It was the type of night I dream of: incredible meal, company, a sense of calm and joy around us. I watched families, couples, solo diners enjoy their evenings, which are signs that something good is happening. I held onto that joy all the way home.

And Now, We Further the Plot: Your Literary Rec

My pal Paige recommended Tess Gunty’s The Rabbit Hutch and hooooooly moly!!! I left it in my TBR pile (truly shelf) too long, but also perfectly timed. It can take me some time to ease into novels, but the story, the point of view across characters, the writing styles changing to keep engagement, the slight quirks that only could be brought to us by these characters, by this writer—my goodness. I’m enthralled. It’s been a pleasure to read during my commutes, and it brings me a sense, dare I say ambiance (even as the story and characters twist in their circumstances) of community, of oddity, of a sense of wonder for what else is possible.

I think the possibility was a strong yes—I was excited to attempt this feat. After all, I wanted to work in fashion in my youth, understand how trends come and go.

But as we learn with age, things can change in a flash. I’ve been working to the bone, as some say. And bones need calcium—which, luckily, is found even in the sweet treat of dairy ice cream. Which, circumstantially, happened to be offered in my office’s lobby every Wednesday.

Let me slipstream a bit: A line I love from Frank Bidart’s poem, “Ellen West,” “heaven / would be dying on a bed of vanilla ice cream…” The poem turns darkly toward the thin profile (TW for eating disorders in this poem), but for that brief line (it’s the opening tercet) we get to dream. I get to all into agreement, as vanilla has been my favorite flavor forever.

I know, I know. Did you expect that from me? I had a brief affair with strawberry in my youth. Never chocolate (milk chocolate is just not my thing, but made me very popular on Halloween). Vanilla was always easy to spruce: caramel, cookie dough, small bits of dark chocolate (you can now close your jaw, you gaspers).

I’ve seen so many collaborations this summer inspired by ice cream. Stay with me: we begin with some sweet cream.

Affogato: vanilla ice cream with espresso poured over. We remember last year’s sweet Sabrina Carpenter summer. I went back into it with a return to Van Leeuwin’s Coffee Affogato. A perfect swirl of vanilla sweet cream and coffee ice cream. That slight buzzy bitterness, mellowed by cream. It’s everything, honestly. Another flavor to throw into the hat is Jeni’s dairy free Cold Brew with Coconut Cream—which has been missing from my local Whole Foods and my heart for the summer. What makes both ice creams even better? Serve them with a loaf of something: in the fall, pumpkin bread. All time, banana bread. Perhaps a touch of citrus with a lemon loaf might do you good (god I wish I tried this).

One of my predicted trends would be ice cream-inspired coffees and matcha: Not revolutionary with the coffee, but the steady growth in matcha’s popularity didn’t surprise me. It’s been my afternoon pick me up summer after summer. So when I kept seeing Blank Street (a very delightful coffee and matcha purveyor) introduce a Cookies & Cream Matcha, I was ecstatic: Ice cream on the poster! A delightful flavor! But… no one likes soggy cookies. The “Oreos” just played for texture. No real depth or play between the grassy matcha notes, the chocolatey cookie, the slight sweetness between both. I expected earthy goodness, and got disappointed real quickly. (Let me note that their Sicilian Pistachio flavor, part of the ice cream summer campaign, is very good albeit slightly sweet.)

Another prediction I was going to have would be strawberry collabs. At the Yes Chef! Food Fest, cookie company Chip City had a special edition strawberry cookie with Oshii strawberries. I didn’t get one of those cookies, but I did jump on the Salt & Straw Oshii Strawberry and Pretzel Salad July collaboration. And yes, it was perfect: salty, sweet, and of course in a sweet cream ice cream! I’ve been adding strawberries in my oatmeal all summer, and it’s been a true treat to lean into the strawberry obsession of young Carly. (The myth is that I also only wore pink at my time of strawberry ice cream favoritism.)

Staying on the Salt & Straw train, their August specialities are inspired by the farmer’s market. Yes, I absolutely tried the pickled cucumber sorbet—and yes, I’ve been craving a scoop ever since. But I brought home two flavors: a Chocolate Zucchini Bread (sweet cream ice cream studded with chocolate flakes and bits of chocolate zucchini bread) and the Miso Blondies with Basil Peach Jam (a vegan base of coconut cream ice cream with… everything mentioned in the flavor title). The miso blondie adds a touch of butterscotch bite to the sweet cream, while the jam keeps the summery sweetness in mind. I could go for a peach right now—which I have in the fridge. And probably mix it into the ice cream. Or warm it with some sugar to make it a real good time.

I can’t forget about some ice cream I tried in the spring. I was in my hometown, hanging in my old haunts of North Park, and my dear friend took me to Stella Jean’s. I enjoyed their seasonal Mango Sticky Rice—mango sorbet swirled with panda-infused coconut cream ice cream. A week later I happened to be back for a work trip, but got a pint to share with my mom because it was that good. I’ve since seen that Van Leeuwen has a mango sticky rice pint, but my last Van Leeuwen (a creamsicle flavor) tasted oddly of cardboard and was a bit too… orangey?! So I am hesitating… but maybe not for long.

Finally, to the ice cream I continue to dream about—or gelato, I should say. An’s Gelato in San Diego is truly a thing of beauty. I honestly dream about it, send friends flavors that I need them to report back on. The picture above was when my best friend and I went, where we sampled everything (they only offer six flavors a month! And each location has different offerings and themes!). I landed on a matcha and blue chamomile situation—and holy moly. Now this is the gorgeous matcha experience I wish I could have all summer.

As we near summer’s end—no, I don’t mean to rush through the season, but I do mean to rush through the humidity—I feel drawn to the creamier, spicier moments coming toward us. I currently have a cheesecake ice cream in my freezer (hey Trader Joe’s) that I am about to take a lil’ scoop from. And it will be glorious.

And Now, We Further the Plot: Your Literary Rec

Ice cream is a treat for any season, any time. I finally finished Melissa Febos’ The Dry Season, and it truly was the treat I expected it to me. My goodness, the feels. I’m currently reading Lucie Brock-Broido’s A Hunger, and ever since reading the opening poem (“Domestic Mysticism”) I keep repeating its final line: “I’ve got this mystic streak in me.” My mentor, Ilya Kaminsky, recommended this book to me years ago, right around when my book was slowly about to debut into the world. He called us “neighbors in space.” Her poems bring in these sudden moments of wildness, a peculiarity that only her mind could conjure. These bits of surprise—aren’t they like these ice cream combos that once could only be imagined? Can we continue to strive toward more surprise while still remaining familiar?

In the times I am quiet here—which have grown often, unfortunately—it is because I feel “world sick.” A phrase from a Broken Social Scene song. Sick of knowing the bounty in front of me. The opportunities afforded due to access. Even this past Wednesday, when our electric was cut off (due to a “planned repair” gone awry), I could order dinner, know it would be delivered, know I would eat. Bounty of snacks (mocha latte pretzels, cereal bars, cookies). Bounty of extra beverages (a sparkling watermelon lemonade, perhaps, iced coffee, tea).

One essay is never enough to move our gaze toward elsewhere, to ask for us to pause in our dailiness and consider the dailiness of others. But here I am, asking you to read Khushbu’s essays among many others.

I’ll be back with food things next week.

Up here is how I’ve been spending most mornings: iced coffee with cold foam on top.

And Now, We Further the Plot: Your Literary Rec

This month is the Sealey Challenge, where poets commit to reading a book a day in August (or a poem a day, or engage with poetry in some ways, like a book a week). Open Books, a wonderful bookstore in Seattle, is hosting a pledge with money going to The Sameer Project, an organization delivering aid to families in need.

If you need books to read, let me know—I’m happy to provide many, many recs.

Yes, you’re reading that right. I don’t want to fuss or gatekeep or ramble too much in the intro here, but let me set the scene over the past few weeks: It’s been muggy and hot (record setting, even!). But spice can cause sweat—the body’s cooling mechanism. No wonder I’ve been craving more from Chili, authentic Sichuan food made by Michelin star recepient Peter He.

The drink menu is exquisitely fun, with flavors ranging from floral and light to rich and heavy, spicy and smokey. I imbibed on the Misty Rain, a tea-centric cocktail with Long Jing tea (a pan roasted green tea that’s also commonly referenced as Dragon Well), gin, and pear syrup. It was perfect, from its presentation in a tea cup to the lightness of the first sip. My beloved of course found the Smokey whiskey—spiced whiskey, ginger, and smoke. We love a moment of show and awe, and taking off the lid to waft the smoke around was a true moment of play. And yes, of course, the drink was delightful. He’s normally not into ginger, but this drink was balanced perfectly between the spicy and smoke.

Appetizers are just so good. Truly, the more I go out—especially in the heat—I’m finding myself getting more excited for appetizers, all those small bites and tastes. We love a spicy wonton, and these delivered on all fronts: stuffed with pork, slightly peanutty, very good on the chili oil and lightness of green onion. We decided to go a bit outside of our comfort zones with the cold appetizer of five-spiced beef: cold slices of beef shank marinated in five spices with a side of mala spice. The beef by itself is what it is: beefy and cold. But dipped in the spice, and it’s a fun experience. The slight heat brings the marinate out in a slightly warm way. And then, thanks to our waiter, we were guided to the poached okra: cold and slimy (in the way only okra is!) with soy sauce and plenty of chili peppers on top. Yes, yes, and yes. Give me this again and again: what a refreshing and fun vegetable preparation, so simple and so flavorful.

When I tell you these portions are huge, believe me. When I tell you every bite was delicious, believe me.

The Chinese broccoli appeared first—no drizzle of sauce (like I’m used to at dim sum), but it didn’t need it. It was simple, cut on the bias, perfect lengths to not overcrowd the plate.

Then, Kung Pao shrimp—dare I say it was my favorite dish. Perfectly plump shrimp studded with peanuts, peppercorns, and chili peppers, dressed to the nines in the exquisite sauce. Sweet, spicy, slightly sour, and all savory—my goodness, my mouth is watering in memory. They have a Kung Fu shrimp was well, which has the full three chili peppers—I can’t wait to try it.

Then, spicy cumin lamb—yes yes and yes again. Perfectly cooked lamb, spiced in cumin, accompanied by chili peppers, onions, and cilantro. It was the perfect contrast to our saucy shrimp: spicy and succulent, with the heat at bay (unless you got a solid chunk of pepper!).

Finally, the tea-smoked duck with sticky rice: the duck boneless, sitting perfectly atop the rice. Again, what a bite: light smoke, solid gamey flavor (in the way duck is), the rice providing additional softness like a cloud to carry the flavors over. What a little raft of flavor, even! A cloud, perhaps? It was a bite that was worth it, but I’d also be heavily invested in trying the other duck dishes another time (like the duck fried rice, or just having the duck on its own, bones and all).

When I tell you this was a feast, believe me.

What feast would it be without dessert?

We decided to go with some crispy coconut milk, the coconut milk coated in corn starch, fried, then topped into powdered sugar. What an experience! Gooey yet firm, like a hot mochi spear. I thought about whether it would need a sauce or something, and landed on a good ol’ nope. The texture and the slight sweetness from the powdered sugar was enough, with the subtle coconut flavor coming through.

Now, it begs the question: Why is this my new favorite restaurant? I love finding spots I can recommend to a variety of parties: A single diner could be satisfied with two appetizers or a main or wherever they want to go—imagine the leftovers! Bring a date—imagine the potential leftovers! A party of 3 or 4—so many dishes, so many opportunities… and potential leftovers! Even larger parties?! We witnessed a few, who polished off their dishes… and kept ordering. What a treat to find opportunities for all. And the affordability in this economy?! And the deliciousness forever?! I want to bring everyone. I immediately texted pals and said, “Next time you’re in town… get ready. I’m bringing you to an incredible place.”

And Now, We Further the Plot: Your Literary Rec

Well, I need to add to a chorus of delights: This is not a book, yet if you are a listener of Bon Iver, then you know the stories. SABLE, fABLE is my soundtrack of the season, the perfect spring into the summer into, of course, returning to the woods in fall and winter (as Bon Iver is known to do). A man of seasons. This album provides that slight lift we need, from the rain into the sun, from a lighter place in vulnerability. He has been a mainstay since For Emma, Forever Ago, and continues to provide a soundtrack that plays alongside me. If I had to choose one song alone, I find “Day One” to be the one. BUT: The transition from “From” to “Day One” is something I think about all the time. Truly, all the time. Just like Chili.

There’s spectacle, of course: We have our figures. I have plenty of writers who influence my work. Friends whose company influences my mood, motivates me toward better actions. My beloved, of course—“& so to tenderness I add my action” (Aracelis Girmay). And Food Network and the Travel Channel food shows.

When I saw that Adam Richman started working with First We Feast (of Hot Ones familiarity) on a show called Pro Moves, I was utterly thrilled. Here was a childhood influence, leading the way into my adult years through the streets of New York, eating and commenting on how to go about it. The “it” changes—sushi to pasta to pizza to buffets.

So I’m applying some of the work—the pro moves—to food festivals. It’s summer, after all: carnivals about town. Street closures full of vendors selling wares (of food and apparel). Last weekend, we went to our first of the season, from an influencer no less: the Yes Chef Food Fest. You can actually sign up for the wait list right now (I suspect an end of summer festival, or perhaps another one when the air cools once more). But for now, here are the pro moves we applied to our time there (and the food along the way):

1. Review the vendors before you go

Yes, it’s simple, but it’s like concert logic: See what food is available! Who is going to play your favorite hits? (Will they even be there?) Is there something you want to try? For Yes Chef Food Fest, there was a list of vendors, as well as videos leading up to the event with what would be offered as part of a limited menu (these places are traveling, after all!)

This work allowed us to have a sense of possibility, but also prioritize what we may want to try. We also got to say “Hey, we’ve tried this before so we can skip it.” (Shout out to Charles’ Pan Fried Chicken, a local fave of ours! And Mimi Cheng’s!)

2. Find out what’s included in your purchase—and what may be free treats

   Yes, you get access to the entire festival—but how much more do you have to buy? Yes Chef had quite a few freebies: nuts and candy, some shrimp (I was only offered one, but I saw other posts where people got much more per serving), some bites from the sponsor (shout out to Wonder, who sponsored the festival. I didn’t have any of their bites, but I usually order lunch from them while I’m in the office, so I know things are delicious—and sure, skipping them allowed me to save room to try something else later).

3. Maybe go the first day?! (Debatable!)

   By the time we found out about the festivities, we had to pay the third “tier” price bracket. There was a $10 difference between days, so figured we’d save $20 and spare the potential of deeper crowds. The event was split into two days: Saturday and Sunday, with an early afternoon and evening block.
   
   There were noticeable differences I began to pick up on from talking to vendors as well as observing good ol’ Instagram (and following posts about the festivities). Yes, Saturday had a larger crowd—and vendors with the free goods seemed to load up plates a lot more (see comments about shrimp!). Another example: For a festival that sold out both days, with at least 8,000 tickets, there were only 5,000 exclusive flavored cookies from Chip City available… No, I didn’t get a cookie and I’m not necessarily salty about it! (Again, the joy of living in the city is hoping that a variant may become available… maybe. Bring me the strawberry cookie, Chip City, even without the beautiful Oshii strawberry!)
   
   Yes, we were sure the vibes would be different between day and night. Yes, we saw vendors abandoned their stations (my guess? They ran out of food Day 1!) or some of the other freebies become only for VIPs or entirely not among the crowd (where were the caviar & blini bumps?! Where were the oysters being paraded around, shucked by hand?!) But we also noticed and enjoyed the sense that we could spend our time looking around, with short wait times for each vendor that allowed for a bit more conversation and sense of ease.

4. Take the loop, and loop again!

   In person, you’re bound to forget any of the prep you actually did before arriving. You can study a map, but being in person makes it so much more real. The space isn’t as large as it seemed. The VIP section is visible, even with a closed off area. Water is only available at the bar area, and it’s actually not a rip off!
   
   Keep in mind that your cravings may change. The loop provides a sense of reprioritization. We saw one lobster roll, but ended up at the other vendor that offered a different roll. (And the one we wanted, turns out, was about $10 more.) We saw three different types of cheesesteaks. Two burgers. Two pizzas (one from Connecticut, one from New York). Two tacos (one Indian, one Mexican). You want to aim for variety, price point, and, well, all around deliciousness. One barbecue place I’m dying to try was there, but the limited menu they had wasn’t peaking my interests—and that’s very okay! Vendors are bringing their bangers (or well, the Jack’s Dining Room’s favorites, which is what the festival centers itself around, which is the point!). Here is this wonderland of someone’s favorite eats and exclusive items to enjoy.

5. Bring a friend!

   The more people you have with you, the more you could potentially try. Carlos and I ended up not splitting bites, but we did witness pals and other couples splitting up to gather back together so they could try multiple items. It’s the best move: the camaraderie over food, the excitement of trying something, the potential debate of “This is better” or “This is fine” or “Let’s go here then go back there.” It’s seriously what these events are about: memory-making over some treats.

6. Chat up the vendors!

   We loved our conversations with the vendors. We learned that some spots were from California or more of a pop-up (big shout out to 10/10 Burger for being extremely hospitable and helping ensure our burger and fries made it back home in one piece!) We learned that despite the rain the night before, Taco Mahal sold 20 gallons of mango lassi! We love kind vendors—yes, some were a little short on their temper (yikes to the vendor who thought we turned off their card scanner), but that may be the exhaustion of serving crowds all weekend. But the real deal was we walked away getting to know about certain businesses and trying some great bites.

And hey, here’s the food we ate:

1. Taco Mahal served up a fantastic chana masala taco—chickpeas stewed in a curry of fresh tomato and herbs with onions, ginger, turmeric, and cumin. It was a fantastic first bite—and dare I say, my favorite. Price point was also on point—for fair food, it was $7 well spent.

2. Carlos got a lobster roll served on a potato bun from Red Hook Lobster Pound! He was really eyeing the longer lobster rolls we saw (which we found out were $26 toward the end of our time). For $15, this was a quick bite that satisfied the lobster craving—but he def wanted more from them.

3. I went over to Soothr, a Thai restaurant I’ve been dying to try. I had their Yes Chef exclusive, which were Karee Pu noodles: crab in a curry sauce with yellow noodles in a potato hot dog bun that I topped with some chili crisp. Whew, I could hang! I loved it: the sweetness of the crab, the spice and texture from the crisp, soft noodles.

4. Carlos and I both tried Tacos Los Cholos, an LA exclusive that, obviously, flew over to bring us my home state taste. Yes Chef Food Fest did a great job of hyping up the sensation of the LA taco! I had an Al Pastor, and Carlos tried a classic carne asada (no onions on both, but the rest of the fixings like cilantro and guac were there!). My taco was fantastic. I used to say that NYC was the best at al pastor, but I need to eat more al pastor from California, apparently!

5. When it came between the two pizza vendors, I went with the one that was from out of state: Sally’s Apizza. Founded in New Haven, Connecticut, in 1938, good ol’ Jack brought them to the Yes Chef fest where they had two offerings: their classic mozzarella and tomato pie, and an “angel fire slice,” a white pie with habaneros and chicken. I opted for the traditional pizza, and was so happy I did: absolutely delicious, the sauce slightly sweet, the crust perfectly executed and kissed with a bit of char. YES. THEY BROUGHT A PIZZA OVEN!!! I have thought about this pizza quite a bit since enjoying it there—and yes, I need to plan a trip to New Haven

6. Carlos was feeling a little full, but wanted a burger (of course)! We walked between two burger spots, and decided upon 10/10 Burger. We had the best conversation, learning about the company and what the product was all about (great service, truly). Carlos was tempted by the curly fries, and I don’t blame him—do you see them?! We ended up bringing the burger and fries home, and he said that both were exactly what he wanted.

I completely forgot about Sunday Morning, the cinnamon rolls I’ve been dying to try (but was too full on the good savory bits I ate). I also forgot about Potluck Club, a Cantonese restaurant on the Michelin Bib-Gourmand that I’ve had my eye on since they’ve opened. The BBQ place I wanted to try was Bark Barbecue, a Dominican-Texas style BBQ joint housed in TimeOut Market, which makes it the perfect situation to grab a few bites from multiple places and create a similar experience to the food fest.

Honestly, this was a great way to kick off summer. I love food! I love the opportunity to try other places that would take me some time to get to! I was excited to experience a vision and version of someone’s favorite bites! Were there similar items? Yes, but I trust that they were all special in their own ways. Isn’t that the wonderful thing about living in a foodie city: We have options. We can try variants of so many things. We’re always on the hunt for our favorites—and while some may be cities away, or a pop-up that will one day have a location (please 10/10 Burger!), we discovered some fantastic places that we never would have heard about without Jack bringing them all together.

And Now, We Further the Plot: Your Literary Rec

The next day, I went to see Melissa Febos celebrate the launch of her new book, The Dry Season. I love Melissa’s writing: there’s an honest delicacy, a wry humor, the voice so sure of the body and physical world-building it must do to allow us to experience and feel with it. It’s a book about Melissa’s year of celibacy—and the deepening of other relationships and modes of self without romance and desire fully at the helm. Instead, there is a different pleasure: the desire to understand the self among the world.

I had, essentially, a weekend full of pleasures. Here, I continue to learn how to walk into the world, to go toward my cravings and pace them. To sit in community and observe.