Mas Mas!

So Mas in Spanish=more.

Mas in French=farmhouse.

Hence, Mas Mas!

Mas is one of my all time favorite restaurants in NYC. Silverware magically appears and disappears. The short ribs are what dreams are made of. The wine pairing is generous to say the least. And now, they're opening a sequel! Mas (La Grillade).

It's going to be located: at 28 7th Ave S and both Zagat and Urbandaddy are offering early tickets before the official opening. Zagat's is tonight, 4 courses with wine pairing for $110 (tax and gratuity included), and Urbandaddy's is Sept. 30 for 5 courses and $125 per person. I'd loveeee to be on that list!

Hopefully I'll get there eventually so I can give a real review. But if it's anything like the original, then prepare to die and go to heaven. Or just go to the original to be sure and order the short ribs. Sigh, happy face, sigh.

Parker House

The PH is a summer tradition. Lounge on the beach in the hot sun, and then scamper on over to the Parker House around 2:30 for the raw bar. Drink specials combined with raw bar goodness--sliders in the form of steak sandwich, sausage sandwich, cheeseburgers, and even a softshell crab sandwich. The steak sandwich is cooked to perfection, and the burgers are nice-sized and juicy. the crab sandwich has a bit too much bread I hear, but the meat is tender and tasty. Clams, both steamed and raw (fabulous), lovely shrimp and cocktail sauce, and the ultimate draw: $8.95 lobster. Yes, ladies and gents, approximately nine bucks for a pound + lobster. Seasoned in old bay, this monster of a deal is so scrumptious that it gets a daily shout out all winter long. Mmmm summer. The ONLY way to kick off summer.

It should be noted that this is a cash only joint except for the actual restaurant. Boasting weekday specials and a quaint open-air peacock chair brunch, this green and white establishment is worth a try. The bar has lines like crazy, which can be avoided by getting into the raw bar section in the back before six and allowing them to stamp your hand. It does close earlier, due to Sea Girt zoning laws, so be prepared for last call to occur around 11:45, as this place clears out by midnight. The bar can get packed, and expect loud music and sweaty bodies. Worth the adventure, don't forget to be safe and take one of the rotating cabs that circle the block. If you're lucky, you'll end up in Wally's and get free candy. It's still summer somewhere!

Rosie's. Sammie's Counterpart: Bronxville Orig!

For my mom's birthday, I decided to take her out to her favorite restaurant. Rosie's. Rosie's is a quaint restaurant on the corner in Bronxville, across from the hospital. Sammie's Downtown, a delicious restaurant on the main drag, is Rosie's spawn. Therefore, Rosie's is the original, and equally delicious.

We started with a bottle of New Zealand sauvignon blanc (171 on the wine list). Crisp, cold, and smooth. We broke bread, which was fluffy on the inside and crunchy on the outside, served warm with ricotta cheese instead of butter, or olive oil. We ordered the melanzane rustica appetizer, which was eggplant, cheese, and spinach in a tomato-marscapone sauce. Delectable.

Moving to the entree, my mom ordered the ravioli quattro formaggi, which is 4 cheese ravioli. Served with green and yellow zerbra stripes and a dash of Parmesan, it was rich without being oily. My spaghetti umberto, which consists of meatballs, in-season zucchini, and thick spaghetti served in a tomato-marscapone sauce. Heaven on earth, and by far my favorite dish on the menu.

For dessert, my mom ordered key lime pie as her birthday cake. So different, but so melt-in-your-mouth yummy. Fluffy rather than smooth, it was a little slice of whipped heaven on a graham cracker crust. Fantastic!

Devi: The Only Indian with a Michelin Star in all of America

So for Ursula's bachelorette party #1, Urs and I headed into Manhattan to try Devi, the only Indian restaurant with a Michelin star in the entire country. Located on East 18th, the outside looks more hole in the wall than famous top chef restaurant. However, once inside, there are bright lanterns, Indian fences, two levels, and extremely helpful and attentive servers. The people next to us were just finishing, and were more than happy to explain their favorites on the menu. We ended up ordering the okra chips with yogurt and the spinach patties as an appetizer, the shrimp coconut haree curry and the apricot lamb seekh with plain naan for entrees. Everything was good and spicy, the only thing we thought was a bit off was the apricot lamb, mostly because the lamb was not cubed, and instead shaped like a sausage, but more mushy and similar to ground lamb which I felt took away from the flavor of the meat. The Malbec we ordered was exceptional, Las Posta. I definitely would like to find a bottle of that for my wine cellar.

We were too full for dessert, and headed to the Victorian bar Lillies around the corner on 17th for another glass of wine. Decent decor, not enough standing room, and too rushed for my taste. After one glass, we were ready to continue on.

After, we walked off our supper and headed back to Grand Central. Once we realized our train would not depart for another thirty-five minutes, we decided to hit up the Campbell Apartments where we each had a decent but insanely overpriced cosmo. Gorgeous space, great feel, good idea with the staffs' uniforms, but seriously, 33 bucks for 2 cosmos? Not even in Manhattan is that okay.

A lovely evening overall, and just what we needed.

Accent Thai

So on McLean Ave in Yonkers, there's a new Thai restaurant. Well, kind of new. I had gone to a place in the same location years ago that I found rather repugnant, but after a huge renovation, it has reopened and since it is literally down the street from where I am currently living, I decided to give it a whirl.

The appetizers are not worth the price. I have tried various items on the menu, and the calamari was the best, but not worth the price. Extremely small portion, and the side sauce was watery and not very exciting. The crab and fish specials were both rubbery and the rolls were greasy.

As for the main course, the pad thai and the curries are actually pretty good. Considering there is not a lot of Thai in the area, it's nice to have a quick take-out place down the street that will definitely satisfy the need. The pad thai is slightly greasy, and I recommend having a lime at home to squeeze over it because they don't supply you with one. The curry has a nice flavor that they can spice up (for me) or spice down (for Brad) if necessary. Sweet with a kick, and plenty of crispy, fresh vegetables, and sticky rice. My only complaint is that I wish there was a little bit more "meat" whether you order chicken, steak, or shrimp. However, it quenches my Thai tastebuds in the area.

Haiku, A Low Point

I ended up in Bronxville, again. I'm not really sure how this keeps happening to me, but it's definitely not the norm. Anyway, on Wednesday, I went for sushi. Now, Haiku used to be my go-to sushi joint. Cheap, delicious, smooth, melt in your mouth good. I recall many nights heading up here to pick up a take-out order, and then heading over the Shea stadium with my upper deck season tickets and a plastic tray of raw goodness. Nothing like gorging myself with two of my favorite things in life: sushi and baseball.

No more. The seaweed was tough, the rice wasn't fresh, and the sushi was underwhelming. The restaurant seemed even more crowded, as if they had added a few more tables and chairs in the already teeny location. I remember one summer when a punk threw a water balloon through Haiku's open windows, splashing customers who were more concerned with their sushi getting wet than their Armani suits. This time, I was wishing for a water balloon to break up the mediocre mundane.

Moonstruck, in all the glory Cher intended.

Saturday night I had a culinary experience. The first since I began writing this blog. My aunt and I headed to Moonstruck in Asbury Park, NJ. It was restaurant week down the shore, so we knew we'd be in for a delectable meal at an even more delicious price. I don't usually talk about prices, but I feel obliged to mention it in this case. The meal, appetizer, entree, and dessert, was $30.00. Not bad, not bad at all.

It was packed. With Cher's biggest fans. (Have you been to Asbury Park? If yes, you'll understand.) The hostess told us it would be 45 minutes to an hour, and without hesitation, I told my aunt that was fine. We sat at one of the cocktail tables and had a nice glass of wine and some conversation. We mostly talked about the downfall of education and academics in New York City, and how frustrating it is sometimes to be a teacher. (My aunt works for IBM and her customer is the NYC Board of Education.) After I was fully riled up, the waitress told us that our table is ready. I needed to be calmed down, and was so immediately when my aunt decided to "splurge" on a discounted-special bottle of Opus One 2005. If you have not had Opus One, you should get around to it one day. It's everything that's good and holy about church in a succinct glass bottle (and I'm convinced it is not a sacrilege to utter this, or even scream it from the hilltops). At my old place of employment in the Bronx, my dean had a slight obsession with this saintly beverage. I never miss an opportunity to rub it in his face, so pardon while I pause for picture-messaging purposes.

Anyway, I ordered the black bean soup. Not typical for me, and my first bite made me regret it. However, once I began swirling the tomatoes and cilantro and creme fraiche around, I began to pat myself on the back for making such a sagacious choice. The flavor explosion was unexpected. I began to look forward to each bite, to the point where the wine sat there, staring at me, wondering how I could pass up sipping Opus One for some black bean soup. After I slurped the last spoonful, I began wondering that of myself as well... It was as if I were in a trance! In the immortal words of Neil Diamond followers, So good, So good, So good!

Next came the most delectable part of the meal. Ed, our waiter, promised it would be good, and I'm beginning to believe Ed was a saintly man delivering holy water and heavenly food. We both had the rigatoni with pumpkin, ricotta, and walnuts, and conversation ceased. The wine was untouched. Our forks couldn't move fast enough, and we couldn't savor it slow enough. Delicious and creamy, a combination of textures and flavors. The pasta was al dente, the walnuts were soft and crunchy at the same time, the pumpkin was not overpowering, and the ricotta added a nice cream element. Try as I might, I could not finish it. Leftovers were equally exquisite, I might add.

I was not ready to marry the chef quite yet, but then came dessert. A close second to the best key lime pie I've ever had the privilege of tasting. (The best goes to my friend Katherine. I've been to Key West. I've been to Joe's Stone Crab in South Beach. I have yet to find an equal. Anywhere. Ever.) This key lime pie was creamy and limey and had a thin graham cracker crust. Cool and refreshing, and the perfect end to the meal. I decided I was ready to marry the chef. When the stars make you drool, just like pasta fagiolo, that's amore. Well, Dean, I couldn't have said it better myself. That's amore.

Nor'easter and a Shipwreck in Brielle, NJ

It all started with a storm. Howling winds, pelting rain, sand everywhere. Piles and piles and piles of sand on Ocean Avenue right now. They're plowing the streets. With snow plowers. If my ankle weren't injured, I'd consider lugging my snowboard up the street and boarding these sand giants. There are orange cones everywhere to prevent cars from churning up more sand as they drive, and last I checked, they were trying to get the situation under control with a leaf blower... Good luck with that.

It was a cold and rainy night. The kind of rain that inevitably lands directly in your eye, as my friend Ursula put it. Sideways rain. Speaking of sideways, it was a perfect night for wine. So after my aunt schlepped herself down here with my two grandparents in tow, we decided to go out for dinner (more like go out for a glass of wine and order dinner so we seemed presentable). We landed ourselves at the Mahogany Grill in Manasquan, sat at the bar, ordered a glass of wine, and only then were we told that the kitchen decided to close early for the night! Oh the travesty. Some burnt homemade potato chips with sea salt were placed in front of us, but we opted for the wine and conversation aspect. The bartender is a very talented artist, and was showing us photographs of her paintings. They were pretty amazing--I wish her the best of luck in her pursuit of an art career. Now, the wine was decent and the conversation was stimulating, but the women next to us had the most succulent looking dumplings and vanilla bean cheesecake, and I had one thing on my mind... FOOD! So the bartender was kind enough to call over to Shipwreck, who said that if we came immediately, they would seat us. We lollygagged. We're New Yorkers, it was a Friday night, and even though it was almost eleven... well any restaurant worth its salt would serve dinner at 11 on a Friday night. That's just how we do what we do.

We got to Shipwreck around 10:50 and ordered three appetizers and two fantastic glasses of Antinori Toscana from 2005. Italian wine just sends me. Love it.

The appetizers came quickly, thank goodness. The best of the three was the veal shortribs. Usually, shortribs are beef, but I must say, the veal was perfect for the weather. Good, thick, melt in your mouth chunks of meat to savor. I wasn't crazy about the chopped olives on the side, but that's because I don't like olives. Olive oil I could probably pour into a class and drink. Olives, I gag. I tried really hard to overcome this preference, and ate as many olives as I could when I lived in Italy, and then again when I visited Spain, but alas, I have not conquered my abhorrence of this little green or red or black ovals.

The second appetizer on my list was the crabcake. Nothing spectacular, I've had way better, but decent and mostly crab meat as opposed to mostly fried breadcrumbs. Sauce was ok, again, not spectacular, but edible and re-orderable mostly because it was hunks of crab and I really enjoy hunks of crab. The major pitfall was that it came with caper berries. Now, I despise capers. Unlike olives, I have never tried to overcome my completely reasonable abhorrence of capers. Tiny, salty bug eggs. Disgusting. Magnify that by things that look like baby figs, and I trust you, my face is a kodak moment of shriveled up disgust. After biting into one (all food critics must deal with their fears if their fears are edible), I promptly had to dispose of it in my napkin. I felt as though I had been crushed by a giant ocean wave, the kind that hits you so hard you find yourself tumbling around underwater, unable to decipher which way is up, swallowing gallons of salt water and not being able to breathe. Oh... caper berries, trying to be all clever and disguise yourselves as something wonderful and sweet like a fresh fig... How dare you! Ugh, I shake my fist at you, green caper berries!

The last appetizer was a doozy. Scallops with foie gras. I adore foie gras, and the best I've ever had was down the Shore at a restaurant called Whispers in Spring Lake. Scallops are slimy, foie gras is slimy... So there was no excitement from a combination of textures. The scallops were, well, scallops. I'm not a huge fan of these strange white masses, and Shipwreck didn't do anything to make me care more for them. The best scallops I ever had were cooked by my friend's fiance while I was visiting in Montauk. He made me LIKE scallops. Actually, he made me ask for more, a feat yet to be duplicated. Something about adding Grand Marnier... Anyway, these scallops were left at the end of the night. The foie gras was way too oily. I felt like I was eating straight lard, and I, as you have probably noticed, really like lard-esque products. But this was too much. So overall, Shipwreck wasn't the total disaster it portrayed itself to be, but it also isn't a place I'll dream about in my sleep. And those caper berries? Well, they might just give me nightmares.

Sumo King?

I was in the mood for sushi. But, I was also down the Jersey Shore. Why the conjunction "but" you may ask? Doesn't sushi involve fish? Doesn't shore involve ocean? Aren't those complementary? The answer is no. It is impossible to find a superb sushi restaurant down the shore. Decent, yes. Sell your first born? No.

Sumo has a couple of strikes against it right of the bat. 1) It's in a strip mall. 2) It's in a strip mall. However, once you get passed this, and step through the doors, you'll find a lovely restaurant tucked away between the abandoned Pathmark and the soon-to-be-out-of-business (at least in my opinion) Blockbusters. The decor is nice, with changing lights on the ceiling, a giant, peaceful fountain, and simplistic tables and chairs. The clientele was interesting to say the least. It's a BYOB (one of the few perks of a Jersey restaurant), and the man next to me had brought a 40 oz of Budweiser for him and his wife to share. If you're going to go with a 40, for crying out loud please, PLEASE, go with Old E or Colt 45. At least earn yourself some street cred with the malt! On the opposite end of the spectrum, the women behind me had an overpowering scent of mothballs. I think I can still taste the mothballs now. The female staff are all in kimonos (Except for the bus girl, who was the only non-Japanese member of the staff as far as I could tell), with giant bows on their backs. There were 4 sushi chefs, and Sumo also offers the option of Hibachi. On this occasion, my friend Jon and I were in it strictly for the sushi.

I had been here a few years ago, and remembered it as being one of the better (but still mediocre) sushi restaurants in the area. In late 2009, it still receives this ranking. Good, and will do the trick, but overpriced for what it is and not exceptional by any means. Jon ordered the green tea, and I'll say one thing, try as he might, he couldn't get the cup half empty. Perhaps it was another message from God to Jon: Dear Jon, Have a positive outlook on life. The cup is half full. Love God. It seemed as though every time he took a sip, a kettle magically appeared and the tea was topped off. Imagine if they paid this much attention in a bar? Jon probably had about 5 cups of tea trying to see what the bottom of the cup looked like. He never found out. But later he got his revenge, as he did find out what the bottom of the sweet tea and lemonade concoction's glass looked like. Twice.

I had a philadelphia roll (heavy on the cream cheese), a yellowtail scallion roll (the seaweed was tough and overpowering), and an eel avocado roll (heavy on the avocado). Basically, I didn't really get to taste any fish. Perhaps I would have been better off ordering sushi pieces. I love the smooth, cool feeling of sushi on the tongue. There's something primitive about eating raw food. For a city girl, eating sushi might be as close to being countrified as she can get. Uncooked, the way nature intended it. Slick and delicious. This experience was covered up and hidden at Sumo. Too many layers. Perhaps this is one sumo wrestler that ought to lose some weight.

Slave to the Grind

Ahh alas, my final Bronxville post for a while. Today, I had my last doctor's visit regarding the softball/Basketcase Part II that grew out of my ankle. I decided to celebrate by heading over to Slave to the Grind, my favorite non-commercial coffee house, located in Bronxville, NY. Yes, I, too, am a slave to the grind, and I love the selection that this small hole-in-the-wall has to offer. Coffee abounds in various flavors, and you can choose any to take home with you. Every day they change the brews available "on tap" and today's most interesting flavor was coffee cake. I'm not a huge fan of the coffee cake (again, stems back to a breakfastless childhood and my mother's intention that I would adore something quick and easy and typical of a morning meal... coffee cake was another failure to add to the plentiful list), so I went with the Irish creme (Erin Go Bragh!) and whole milk.

Before I continue, let me take a minute to discuss whole milk. It's delicious. I had a major issue in college, because my particular institution of education (Boston College), did not serve whole milk. The best I could muster was 2%. 2%? 2% of what? Travesty! The yogurt didn't have full fat. The ice cream didn't have full fat. The Starbucks on campus didn't offer full fat milk. I wanted FULL FAT!!!! It irritated me to no end. Who are they to decide what I can and cannot ingest? People have been drinking whole milk for centuries, and suddenly some doctor has decided it should be banned on college campuses? Phooey! Thank you, Slave to the Grind, for offering not only whole milk, but even half and half! Thank you!

The Irish Creme coffee was as delicious as I remembered. Piping hot, smooth, and luscious without being overly bitter. Even the addition of milk did not bring it to a lukewarm temperature. It was lovely on a rainy day to sit at one of the small tables in the back and sip my coffee and grade some students' papers. Maybe write a love letter or two. Listen to the soft radio... Neil Young "Southern Man" (You ROCK Lynyrd Skynyrd!) and some Boston "More Than A Feeling.' I adore the punk/rebellious clientele (Sarah Lawrence is right down the street). These are the type of customers that would be given the malocchio at a local Starbucks or Dunkin' Donuts. Mohawks, dyed hair, leather everywhere, black sweatshirts of various punk bands, multiple piercings, loud, rowdy, and in need of a good cup o' Joe so they can continue their 48 hour 2-nighter. The staff is friendly and jovial (but opposed to Red Sox fans, which made me rather sad). They have a variety of mixed coffee drinks, some warm apple cider, plenty of varieties of tea, and pastries, but most people come for the caffeine jolt in its truest form, without the grande-skinny-mocha-half-caf-no-whip tongue twister. So if you want some good old-fashioned coffee, some friendly service, and perhaps an existential conversation with a guy in skinny jeans and three lip piercings, then this, by God, is the coffee house for you!

Sammie's Downtown: Rosie's Sidekick. Hold the Margarine

For anyone who has been to Bronxville, NY, you know that Rosie's is an old-Italian standby. Good food, naked-lady art, old people abound... but pleasant, predictable, and quite yummy. Not too long ago, Rosie's decided to open a sister restaurant named Sammie's. Also located in Bronxville, NY. Now, the only Sammie I know is Sammie the elephant at the Bronx Zoo. I used to visit Sammie with my grandfather every Wednesday after he was born. Why Wednesdays? Two reasons. 1) I went to Catholic school, so we got to leave at 1:00 every Wednesday so the "heathens" could come and get their CCD education. Ahh, alas, heathen doesn't mean what it used to, thanks to the new councilman in Bayside, Queens. Thank you Dan Halloran, for giving America yet another well-deserved vocabulary lesson!

But moving along... the second reason we went on Wednesdays is because the Bronx Zoo is free on Wednesdays, and my grandfather can't pass up anything that's free. Whether it be toothpaste, toilet paper, ice cream (we all walked around with our own pint this summer just to try and clear up some freezer space), or shampoo bottles from the Taj in Atlantic City... He basically runs a grocery store out of his basement. Which was very convenient when I was in college; I can't lie.

Anyway, so back to the restaurant Sammie's... So, I'm guessing in the daylight it looks like a Parisian coffee shop, but at nighttime it just looks like a haunted house gone bad. Red lights in the corners scream REDRUM REDRUM! and the rest of the lighting is non-existent. My seventh grade teacher taught me that people eat less when the lighting is dim, and this was no exception. Yet, I must explain that it wasn't because of the quality of the food. I ordered the Octopus Portuguese which was absolutely lovely. It was served with a salad and fried onions, more for display than anything else. The octopus was fresh, soft, and scrumptious. A simple dish. For an entree I ordered the salmon with steamed asparagus and both were delicious. Now, I'm not running off to marry this chef, but it was quite good. The French Bordeaux (red) got better as it opened up, but wasn't spectacular. The chocolate ganache truffle cake with Tahitian ice cream sounded better in description than in actuality. The cappuccino was typical restaurant cappuccino quality. I wasn't transported back to my days living in Italy, sipping cappuccino watching the world stroll by, but it did the trick.

So since it was nothing spectacular, why did I choose to write about it? Because of the beurre! Yes. I wrote this whole thing so I could end with a description of the butter they provide when they bring their bread offering to your table. Again, like the band KISS proclaims: Keep it simple, stupid! This whipped butter arrives looking like a melon ball. "Oh, I don't want to ruin my dinner!" you protest. But then you're waiting, and you're chatting, and you're waiting, and they bring you your wine. And what goes better with wine than bread? Every good Catholic knows that! So you sigh and resign yourself to choosing a slice of bread. So of course, since there's no olive oil on the table, you choose the butter. Now, my aunt, with whom I was dining, had to spread the butter on my bread for me since I still am having trouble moving my left arm... Damn you iv! and she spread a generous helping. So I take a bite and now I'm slightly transported to a happier time. What is this? Why does it taste so different? Do I like it? I need another bite. And another, and another, and another... So what is this miraculous butter? Rosie's, the original restaurant doesn't serve butter, they serve ricotta. But this, this is not ricotta. It's not unsalted... It's not like anything I've had in a restaurant before. Turns out, it's honey! Butter and honey whipped together, scooped up like a melon ball, and placed on your table, probably to sit there untouched by the ignorant until it finds its home in the trash later that night. Ladies and gentlemen, do not, I repeat, do not let this butter meet its usual fate! Cherish this butter, spread it generously over the soft, warm bread, and smile. Butter makes everything better!

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

Less than 24 hours ago, I was lying in a hospital bed attached to a broken machine via a small, translucent tube that was devastatingly painful. The tube, in turn, was attached to a larger tube, which was attached to a thick plastic bag. In this bag held the medicine that was supposed to cure the severe bacterial infection that I had somehow introduced to my right foot. Drip. Wait five seconds. Drip. Wait five seconds. Drip... and so on for hours at a time. My arm was red, the IV refused to stay put, Dracula had woken me up at 5AM, which left me with a rather intriguing blueberry stain on my right elbow joint, as well as some splendid yellow sunshine bruising on the back of my left hand and my left wrist. I had developed a strawberry seed rash on my left arm... perhaps an allergy to the antibiotic, perhaps an allergy to the detergent, perhaps a remnant of the ridiculous itching at two o'clock in the morning... or perhaps it had something to do with the fact that it was about 90 degrees in the hospital room and I couldn't move my arm due to the lovely pink object injected into my left arm. Regardless, the most interesting hospital experience was the food. So, here I am, a native New Yorker, who has decided to create a blog to discuss the nuances of the 5 boroughs' cultural palate, and I start with hospital food in Westchester.

Perhaps it's because I've done the fancy, overpriced restaurant. I've done the expensive, I-want-to-marry-the-chef-right-here-right-now restaurant. I've done the hole in the wall, I've done the trendy and the touristy and the soon-to-go-out-of-business, but I have never, ever done the hospital bed. And so, since it is new to me, I feel obliged to start something new with something new.

First, there are waiters and waitresses. They walk around with a palm pilot and give you a list of options. They quickly jot down your order, plastic pen to plastic handheld device, and then move on to the next patient. While this is cool, it is not shocking. What's shocking is what arrives on your black, dishwasher approved black tray.

Sample Day:

Breakfast: Cheese omelet. 2 slices of bacon. oatmeal. fruit parfait. blueberry muffin. orange juice. coffee. milk. Really?

Lunch: 3 long, thin slices of roast beef in gravy. Fettuccine noodles. I turned down the broccoli and carrot combination as I had learned the difference between outside vegetables and inside water-disguised-as-vegetables. Angel food cake. Juice. Tea.

Dinner: New England Clam Chowder, Beef in sauce, vegetables, salad, roll, apple pie, coffee, milk, juice.

Snacks: Pudding, jell-o, and applesauce available upon request.

Am I here to get better, or am I here because I just happen to be below average pant size for the average American woman? That's a ton of food for someone who's training for a marathon. I was training for marathon television watching. Bed rest, foot up, tiny $7 a day television... and more food than I, a person who is known for excessive eating and has been told on numerous occasions that I should join Eater X and Joey Chestnut front stage, I, could not even come close to finishing the monstrosity that arrived on the giant black tray. I was amazed! Intrigued! Astounded! Especially considering I was visited by a dietitian on numerous occasions. Is this food here to help me get better? Or is it really a ploy to poison my, increase my cholesterol, and keep me strapped to a broken IV machine forever? I don't have an answer, but I do know that I'm not intending on returning to Lawrence hospital in Bronxville anytime soon. Wonderful, friendly staff. Tons of food (albeit not necessarily tasty). But me? I prefer my freedom to choose a restaurant.

So the journey continues. My goal? Travel around the 5 boroughs and surrounding area. Sample as many restaurants as possible--every ethnicity, every ranking, every type. Describe in luscious details the victories. Be blunt about the failures. Follow my passion. Demonstrate the beauty of my native city. And above all, live a little!