Thursday, July 06, 2006


There should be more freebies. In everything, but as this is a food blog (I write this here to remind myself, not you), I'm talking specifically about freebies in the food world. The tasters. The samples. The sweet treats you might never try were they not cradled in tiny paper cups or skewered by a miniscule toothpick. The sweet gulp of wine. The passed hors d'oeuvres. The bread basket. The amuse-bouche. The chocolate on the pillow. The extra pickle.

I live in the United States. If all goes well, I will never be hungry. But still, the freebie never ceases to thrill me. I will never say no to just a little taste. Something so small; it means so much.

Monday, July 03, 2006


...That's good enough for me.

Confession: it is way way way too much for me!

A cookie isn't nourishment; it's an "extra," a sweet little nothing that, lately, has become a sweet big something. I eat a cookie; I lose control. And then I think to myself, "Don't eat any more cookies! Not for a little while, at least! Hold back, you greedy little bitch."

But this weekend it was Cookie All The Time. Which wound up being a Great Time. But that Time has passed and left me with a bellyache.

Because, for me, it never stops at just one cookie. (I like to think my appetite is well-expressed and well-appeased, but, in fact, according to these cookies, my appetite is a dormant beast just waiting for some chemical signal so it can go to Chow Town and terrorize said Town.)

On Friday I was on some sort of Fun Rampage, and I was fortunate enough to have a partner to indulge my every whim. We shared a bottle of wine. We shared a Cookie. We drank margaritas. And chips. And guacamole. And two big platters of Mexican Food comprised of some sort of rice/bean combination and perhaps there was some meat in there, for Protein's Sake, but I don't remember! I was WASTED! Then there was a rooftop party, and everybody knows that parties include Party Snacks. Which I ate. And drank. And I looked at my friend through bloodshot eyes, and I said to my friend, "Have you ever been to Schiller's? We must go there now." And my friend said "Okay," and once there I squinted at the waiter through bloodshot eyes and said "We will have one thing and one thing only: Sticky Toffee Pudding. Two spoons!" Because even WASTED I know what is Good Eating and Schiller's Sticky Toffee Pudding is basically a Mouthgasm On A Plate. Buttery toffee sponge cake, with warm buttery toffee sauce melting vanilla ice-cream. You could almost hear the silent screams of ecstasy as we ate this Lower East Side Manna. In order to keep the scream from leaving my throat I was absolutely forced to drown the sound with more cake/ice-cream, which, thank god, seemed to do the trick.

Saturday was supposed to be better. But here's a psychic tip from me to you: Life brings the UNEXPECTED. Honestly, Saturday was not "better"; Saturday was much worse. In that I ate MORE cookie, this one homemade and diabolically potent. I only had a tiny bite, but it DESTROYED me. Meaning that my Fun Rampage (with TWO Funtime Partners) took me all the way to Central Park where I purchased the most phallic popsicle ever invented. It's called The Bullet and is supposed to be a "Patriotic Pop With Flavors Worth Saluting: Blue Raspberry, White Lemon, and All-American Cherry" but it was really an "Invitation For Sexual Harassment: As It Looked Like A Clown's Penis". Hey, I'm a Classy Lady, so I ate the thing as quickly (and as uncomfortably) as I could, completely ashamed of myself.

With blue lips and red eyes I walked with my associates to JG Melon's where, for DINNER, we ordered cheeseburgers and fries. Actually, I ordered. My Funtime Partners had eaten an entire cookie each, and were so toasted that their respective eyeballs were rolling into the backs of their respective skulls. I took advantage of their blindness by eating all of the fries before they could get their dreamy, twitching hands on them. I like french fries! I will betray you for them!

Later, in an attempt to "stop the cookie" I drank two iced-coffees and a Red Bull. And then I met some friends for ANOTHER DINNER at my favorite Chinese restaurant, Grand Schizuan. "I already ate," I said, as if that truth would somehow prevent me from eating again. "Maybe I'll just order a steamed pork bun," I said, as if that would somehow prevent me from eating ALL OF MY FRIENDS' FOOD.

It did not.

I arrived, later that night, at chez moi feeling uncomfortably full. "You know what will help me," I thought, thinking my thought was rational, "ice-cream. That will settle my stomach! Dairy is ALWAYS a good idea for aiding in digestion! I am a GENIUS!" I kissed my biceps to celebrate my awesomeness (like I always do), and made way for the newly-purchased tub of Breyer's.

And you know what?

I slept like a baby!

A colicky, cranky, crampy baby!

Now we do penance. We being me. So now me do penance, so me don't turn into Monster.