Location: University between 9th and 10th
In the anxiety-filled last days of the summer before embarking on the great life adventure that is college, my brother, an NYU alum, wrote out a list of the places that I should eat when I came to New York. My brother is really into being helpful. And he's really into food. The list was filled with random names like Broadway, University, Washington Place, and Union Square. I only knew that I was living on 10th, but since my brother was no recommending a place to go antiquing (little did I know, I was going ina bustling antique center. Of course, since they're antiques, it was actually really peaceful and tree-filled. Not to mention unaffordable.), that particular street name did not make an appearance on the list. As for Broadway, I thought it was some mythical street in some far-off location in New York filled with muppets and bright lights (can you tell what musical I'm channeling?)
Regardless, move-in day came, which is when it all came together. Here was University! and here is Broadway (muppets not included)! And here is Bagel Bob's. Aha, I thought, I have found a place that none of the other freshmen will know about. God, I'm so in the know, I thought. Little did I know...
You will have to wait the length of that paragraph space to find out the breathtaking conclusion of this tale.
So during that week of punshiment that is Welcome Week, I had to wander the streets by myself sometimes. And I had to eat, and since I did not have anyone to eat with, I couldn't very well go to a dining hall. Of course, starvation was an option, but I didn't think that passing out would make a good first impression on my roommates. Little did I know...
...one of my roommates had Vaso Vega and so is prone to fainting randomly. If I had known then what I know now...
Anyway, I decided to venture into Bagel Bob's to avoid the judgement of others (actually no one cares.) Bagel Bob's was not the oasis I had hoped for. There was a line, so there I was, thinking I had time to make a decision, but no. Within seconds they were yelling, "Next!" and had very high expectations of me--like that I would tell them what bagel I wanted, what cream cheese, whether or not it should be toasted. I was overwhelmed. Hence the chamber of stress. But that is the price of quick service--a state of borderline hysteria.
Regardless, the bagels are delicious, they are very generous with their cream cheese, and most important, a successful trip to Bagel Bob's makes you feel like the first time someone asks you how to get to the subway and you know the answer--it makes you feel like a New Yorker because you're in a rush, you're stressed (probably induced by the shop itself) and the employees never smile at you.
Also, they have 45 cent bagels on Mondays from 5-7 (?) and are open at an absurdly early hour.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Monday, February 2, 2009
VPB: Not an Abbreviation for a Newly Discovered STD, Perv
Location: on the corner of that one cobbled street in downtown Burlington and one of the four other streets there.
So my roommate and one of my friends from my floor went to Vermont to visit my roommate's boyfriend. On Saturday, we went on a thoroughly informative tour of the Ben and Jerry's factory. Sadly a) the video about these "two real guys" did not actually feature them but instead rehashed the same picture 10 times; b) the tour apparently wasn't informative enough since at the end of the tour one girl as the tour guide how ice cream was made; c) it turned me off of Ben and Jerry's for a long time once my greed and munchies got the better of me. Watching my two friends despondently finish their gargantuan cones (to prove their champ status) completely clinched my moratorium.
Still what's important is that on the way to the factory, my roommate's boyfriend made a reservation to the Vermont Pub and Brewery (henceforth referred to as VPB. This is akin to those halcyon days in 2003 when everytime Weapons of Mass Destruction were mentioned, the publication would necessarily write WMD in parentheses.) for 7:30. Needless to say, we left the dorm at roughly the time we were supposed to be there. It was once we got there that Pat's male instinct kicked in and he refused to ask directions for the location of the restaurant. Still it was surprising that we were lost since, as my roommate astutely pointed out, there are roughly 4 streets in downtown Burlington, of which only one is cobbled. Ultimately, we found the restaurant. And though we had obviously missed our reservation, we were seated pretty quickly. I didn't even have time to observe the cautionary display of fake IDs they had hanging. VPB is clearly no Tantra. (I hope you are paying attention to previous posts)
The menu was a newspaper. It was daunting. For some reason, when I had asked Kelly if $12 would be enough for VPB she said it wouldn't, which is why when I read the menu and saw that everything was under $6, I assumed that it would not be filling. I assumed it would be less than an appetizer. I scoured the menu for items of a higher price, convinced that this 50 item menu was the kid's menu. WRONG. It really hindered the decision-making process. I can only imagine the harrowing experience it would have been for Connie who can't even make a decision at Miyake (I feel no need to further elaborate on our relationship to the restaurant. This is another check on whether or not we have good readers). When the waiter came by, anxiety set in. While Kelly had already debated whether or not to get a grilled cheese AND cheese fries (dairy is her life), I brooded over whether or not I should order the lasagna or some mushroom head concotion? WWEAD (The newspaper-menu also had a section on Ethan Allen: yes, he is the furniture maker, and yes, he is the greatest Vermonter that ever lived). Obvi, I settled for the mushroom thing that was called Bird's Nest or something, but that the waiter simply described as mashed potatoes in a portabella mushroom head. Nice euphemisms, VPB.
Sidenote: All the dishes had really odd names. Pat's and Mikael's was called Holes in the Toad or something bizarre like that. Toad for the Ho (perhaps some sort of abstinence message)? I don't remember.
We got some poppers to begin--they were great. I had never heard of them before but there's something about deep-fried sour cream encrusted jalapenos that my heart yearns for. The service was prompt, the waiters friendly, and the food was really good, and just the right serving size. The only thing I didn't love was the dressing for my mini-salad, but I'm a champ so I ate it anyway.
We sat next to a window, enjoying the sign that alerted us to the fact that it was 10 degrees outside. The lighting was almost as dark as La Lanterna, so it was pretty fucking romantic. And the dinner was accompanied by various tales about the drunken mistakes we college students make and a catalogue of the various places UVM students pass out in (the student center, down the hall, in a random guy's bed, under a tree, parents' bed, and perhaps most bizarrely, someone else's parents' bed).
The total came out to $50 which is some sort of Christmas miracle. Or maybe New York is ridiculously overpriced. (I'm trying to think of a funny third option but it's not coming to me) Maybe it's atonement for the fact that it's so miserably cold and snowy in that state.
Regardless, I was very pleased with the chef. This should balance out Connie's tragic account. We shouldn't laugh at her pain.
So my roommate and one of my friends from my floor went to Vermont to visit my roommate's boyfriend. On Saturday, we went on a thoroughly informative tour of the Ben and Jerry's factory. Sadly a) the video about these "two real guys" did not actually feature them but instead rehashed the same picture 10 times; b) the tour apparently wasn't informative enough since at the end of the tour one girl as the tour guide how ice cream was made; c) it turned me off of Ben and Jerry's for a long time once my greed and munchies got the better of me. Watching my two friends despondently finish their gargantuan cones (to prove their champ status) completely clinched my moratorium.
Still what's important is that on the way to the factory, my roommate's boyfriend made a reservation to the Vermont Pub and Brewery (henceforth referred to as VPB. This is akin to those halcyon days in 2003 when everytime Weapons of Mass Destruction were mentioned, the publication would necessarily write WMD in parentheses.) for 7:30. Needless to say, we left the dorm at roughly the time we were supposed to be there. It was once we got there that Pat's male instinct kicked in and he refused to ask directions for the location of the restaurant. Still it was surprising that we were lost since, as my roommate astutely pointed out, there are roughly 4 streets in downtown Burlington, of which only one is cobbled. Ultimately, we found the restaurant. And though we had obviously missed our reservation, we were seated pretty quickly. I didn't even have time to observe the cautionary display of fake IDs they had hanging. VPB is clearly no Tantra. (I hope you are paying attention to previous posts)
The menu was a newspaper. It was daunting. For some reason, when I had asked Kelly if $12 would be enough for VPB she said it wouldn't, which is why when I read the menu and saw that everything was under $6, I assumed that it would not be filling. I assumed it would be less than an appetizer. I scoured the menu for items of a higher price, convinced that this 50 item menu was the kid's menu. WRONG. It really hindered the decision-making process. I can only imagine the harrowing experience it would have been for Connie who can't even make a decision at Miyake (I feel no need to further elaborate on our relationship to the restaurant. This is another check on whether or not we have good readers). When the waiter came by, anxiety set in. While Kelly had already debated whether or not to get a grilled cheese AND cheese fries (dairy is her life), I brooded over whether or not I should order the lasagna or some mushroom head concotion? WWEAD (The newspaper-menu also had a section on Ethan Allen: yes, he is the furniture maker, and yes, he is the greatest Vermonter that ever lived). Obvi, I settled for the mushroom thing that was called Bird's Nest or something, but that the waiter simply described as mashed potatoes in a portabella mushroom head. Nice euphemisms, VPB.
Sidenote: All the dishes had really odd names. Pat's and Mikael's was called Holes in the Toad or something bizarre like that. Toad for the Ho (perhaps some sort of abstinence message)? I don't remember.
We got some poppers to begin--they were great. I had never heard of them before but there's something about deep-fried sour cream encrusted jalapenos that my heart yearns for. The service was prompt, the waiters friendly, and the food was really good, and just the right serving size. The only thing I didn't love was the dressing for my mini-salad, but I'm a champ so I ate it anyway.
We sat next to a window, enjoying the sign that alerted us to the fact that it was 10 degrees outside. The lighting was almost as dark as La Lanterna, so it was pretty fucking romantic. And the dinner was accompanied by various tales about the drunken mistakes we college students make and a catalogue of the various places UVM students pass out in (the student center, down the hall, in a random guy's bed, under a tree, parents' bed, and perhaps most bizarrely, someone else's parents' bed).
The total came out to $50 which is some sort of Christmas miracle. Or maybe New York is ridiculously overpriced. (I'm trying to think of a funny third option but it's not coming to me) Maybe it's atonement for the fact that it's so miserably cold and snowy in that state.
Regardless, I was very pleased with the chef. This should balance out Connie's tragic account. We shouldn't laugh at her pain.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Triumphant Post: Connie Finally Posts.
So we went to this Indian restaurant called tantra for Cara's birthday dinner, and apparently it was the first night that it was open again after being closed for 5 months. A couple of people ordered drinks, and they did not card. Great for future reference.
We got there at 7:15ish, probably ordered our food at 7:30, and guess when our food came. 8:30. I was literally about to shit myself. All I had had yesterday was an apple and a string cheese. I wanted to stab my knife in my eye.
But given we were a group of 12 so understandably that they wanted to bring all the food out at the same time, but seriously? One hour? What kind of business are you running? And given that they had just opened so there were probably kinks in their system. BUT STILL. I WAS FUCKING HUNGRY. And my hunger trumps all other factors.
But the owner came around and said hello to everyone at the table, and said that drinks would be on the house. LIE. Given he told us after people had already ordered drinks and the waitress probably didn't know. But i totally ordered an apple martini and DID NOT GET IT. Fail.
But. The food was delicious. The Naan was soft and slightly buttery, but not too buttery. Just buttery enough. I got the chicken Tiki Masala, which was also great. The rice that it came with was delicious too. And they had all these lamb choices that sounded scrumptious also. Lamb with apricot curry? As rachel ray would say, YUM-O.
And the place was really nice, they had two flat screen tvs where they were playing some very sensual/erotic bollywood film, which helped pass the ONE HOUR BEFORE MY FUCKING FOOD CAME. But yes. Dimly lit, but not too dark, tea candles in these blue glass things, drapery on the walls, huge as mirrors with nice frames on the wall, and one seating section that was like a huge concrete tube surrounding you. my goal is to be seated there next time.
But yes. The service was OK, the waitress and the owner were really nice and friendly, and the waitress gave Cara a drink on the house and pistachio ice cream with a candle at the end. So basically i want to shit on the chef.
We got there at 7:15ish, probably ordered our food at 7:30, and guess when our food came. 8:30. I was literally about to shit myself. All I had had yesterday was an apple and a string cheese. I wanted to stab my knife in my eye.
But given we were a group of 12 so understandably that they wanted to bring all the food out at the same time, but seriously? One hour? What kind of business are you running? And given that they had just opened so there were probably kinks in their system. BUT STILL. I WAS FUCKING HUNGRY. And my hunger trumps all other factors.
But the owner came around and said hello to everyone at the table, and said that drinks would be on the house. LIE. Given he told us after people had already ordered drinks and the waitress probably didn't know. But i totally ordered an apple martini and DID NOT GET IT. Fail.
But. The food was delicious. The Naan was soft and slightly buttery, but not too buttery. Just buttery enough. I got the chicken Tiki Masala, which was also great. The rice that it came with was delicious too. And they had all these lamb choices that sounded scrumptious also. Lamb with apricot curry? As rachel ray would say, YUM-O.
And the place was really nice, they had two flat screen tvs where they were playing some very sensual/erotic bollywood film, which helped pass the ONE HOUR BEFORE MY FUCKING FOOD CAME. But yes. Dimly lit, but not too dark, tea candles in these blue glass things, drapery on the walls, huge as mirrors with nice frames on the wall, and one seating section that was like a huge concrete tube surrounding you. my goal is to be seated there next time.
But yes. The service was OK, the waitress and the owner were really nice and friendly, and the waitress gave Cara a drink on the house and pistachio ice cream with a candle at the end. So basically i want to shit on the chef.
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