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all my daughter’s future exes live in texas because we’re moving here.

23 Jan

Something really interesting about blogging in Texas is that it’s nearly impossible to do with a piece of pork in one hand and a beer in the other. And while I typically blog at night, and could perhaps aim for an AM writing session, the bacon/beer scenario still holds true mere minutes after we’ve arisen. Luckily today Harry’s food coma seems to have been a little more severe than mine, so I’ve bought myself some writing time before we head into Hill Country to explore hidden BBQ pits and donut places and backyard brewers. What I’m trying to say is that all I plan on focusing on for the rest of my life (or until it happens) is bothering Harry about moving to Austin. You should come too, Mom and Dad!! But enough about my goals and aspirations, let’s talk about the food!

As I may or may not have mentioned, Harry and I headed to Austin with the intention of eating, drinking and stealing enough good ideas to open 100 new restaurants in NY. Also we came to hang out with Nicole, one of my oldest dork friends from Elementary School. She moved out here some years back and now carries a handgun in her Burberry bag, as well as about a dozen calligraphy pens and sometimes a puppy. She quilted my babygirl a blanket and made jewelry out of bullet casings from the gun range that she frequents on the daily all in the same week. Her most admirable qualities are that she’s really held her own with me and Harry’s eating marathon this week, she shot the FUCK out of a target when we went to the gun range (I shot a Glock! I’m a girly spaz!) and she is designing a tattoo for me to get while I’m here with some of her new fancy pens.

Shit man, I keep getting distracted from food. Maybe it’s because I know that if I write just how much we have consumed over the past 3 days, you will vomit and never read this shiz ever ever again. So I’ll just stick with the highlights (which will still  be vomit inducing so just let that be known. Read this by a bathroom.)

We ate 1 pound of fatty brisket, 5 ribs, 2 sausages, pulled pork, 1 side of cole slaw, 1 side of potato salad and 2 slices of white bread after waiting in line for 2 hours at a place that was declared by Bon Apetit magazine as the best BBQ in the world. And guess what. It was. (We had leftovers so shut up)

We ate at Uchiko, where Nicole is a regular, so she brought us on a culinary tour through the place. The most hardcore Brussels sprouts ever known to man, kale chips with candied quinoa and trumpet mushrooms. A yellowtail hand roll that I had a sex dream about. Some jar of duck that when it was opened at the table, shot us with a blast of rosemary smoke that lingered for like ten minutes. Bourbon and birch dippin’ dots with other shit on a plate. Heavenly meal.

We ate at a hot dog place where Harry had a bacon infused bloody mary with a piece of peppered bacon, chunk of cheddar cheese and other shit on the side of it, and a hot dog stuffed with cheese, rolled in bacon, fried and topped with cole slaw. I ate a freshly made sausage with a whole bunch of shit, topped with spicy BBQ mac & cheese and served on a pretzel roll. It was called the Notorious P.I.G. That’s why I ordered it.

We went to a gastropub to steal ultimate ideas for the new place. Chicken fried chicken egg. WHAT??? You don’t even know. Trio of pig – pork loin, bacon, pig face sausage. Yeah, pig face. All of it. We asked the chef at this particular place (you sit at a counter and watch the kitchen, so we were next to him while he put out all the food, it was very very cool) why he didn’t have any beef on the menu. He told us that he couldn’t find cows as much as he liked the lambs of this local woman, but he’s working on it.

We ate at the food truck of Paul Qui, that dude who won Top Chef Austin. It was in the back of a college bar where I got carded 3 times.  It was also mere hours after we inhaled ridiculous amounts at Uchiko, but all decided that we had digested enough to give it a go. Ramen noodles with a fried egg, pork belly and REAL corn (no dehydrated foods to be seen in this puppy!!). More off the hook Brussels sprouts!

We ate at a doughnut burger place (and watched Syracuse win!!) where we got donut burgers and donut desserts.

I’d say I’m gonna go on a diet the day we get back to NY, but that’s not going to be possible because my stomach has stretched to the size of John Goodman’s. It might take a few weeks to ease back into less than 4000 calories a day…..

In conclusion, I have a tummy ache.

Just for the sake of comparison, I’ve compiled a list of places on Long Island that are as serene as the lakeside ledge on which I’m composing this post:

The lakeside ledge is so serene, in fact, that Harry referred to it yesterday when we spotted it from the pool as “the perfect place that someone would dispose of a body.” Naturally it was where I decided to head this fine morning, knowing that it is the ultimate place to feel inspired, second only to a crowded Starbucks. It took me twenty minutes to find it, and I passed zero people which means that nobody knows I’m here. On my way there was a door decorated as a reindeer, so probably nobody has even walked down the hallwayI’m so far below the hotel that the wi-fi isn’t even an option on my laptop, and the seats are sopping wet with morning dew and my ass is FUCKING FREEZING.

Speaking of the pool, it’s a multi-tiered infinity number, which he used as a “sea lion act” and rolled over the top ledge of into the next pool down subsequently throwing me over the side of it and giving me a boo boo because according to him I’m much heavier than him and didn’t contort into the proper rolling position, which duh, Harry, how am I supposed to do when you are literally forcing me against my will? And so what if I’ve gained a few pounds while I’m here? IT WAS WORTH IT.

Oh man, a boat is coming to destroy my peaceful existence. Luckily the fog is so thick I can’t see twenty feet in front of me, so my view is still unobstructed. However I no longer have feeling in my ass and I’m starting to wish Nicole were with me because the trees are rustling and I feel naked without a firearm. Talk to you later when I may or may not have a tattoo and a new pair of (larger) jeans.

Addendum: On my way back up from the lakeside ledge I realized that the rustling was a deer! It’s a good thing Nicole wasn’t there after all.

how to make hangover soup!

3 Jul

Something really fun about the restaurant business is that when you’re nursing a nasty hangover, there’s a kitchen full of guys offering you their remedies from all over Central America. For instance, today. Last night was Jimmy’s wedding*, and as a result of the 7 bottles of wine I drank, I was in no shape to be at work (Nor was I in any shape to take my babygirl to mommy and me gymnastics today at 8:30am  but I pulled that shit off like a champ). By the time I got to work, the nausea was subsiding (unless someone mentioned the words “beer” or “ice” or “kiwi strawberry Snapple” and then I just wanted to puke again). I was, however, jonesing pretty hardcore for “anything involving butter and cheese, preferably also involving bacon, bread and eggs” in order to coat my bloated, baggy clothing clad stomach and get me back to my normal vivacious self. The Irish guy told me that instead of an egg sandwich, I feel much better if I either drank a shot of tequila or to dropped a shot of tequila in a beer and drank that. The fellow Jew waitress told me to hold my nose while I drank the tequila. The Guatemalan offered me “Hangover Soup,” which apparently consists of egg drop soup, spinach and jalapeños. Listen, hombre. Maybe that’s how you roll in your country, but up in here we eat a greasy cheeseburger with fries and feel better in no time.

So he made me the egg sandwich with a heap of bacon and the perfect cheese-to-egg ratio, and I sort of did feel better. Other than the fact that I was wearing pajamas at work and didn’t brush my hair and was only wearing one fake eyelash, I probably totally looked like my normal self. Nonetheless, hangovers cause you to turn into useless lumps of sleepiness and stupidity.

Like the part of the day that I went to the office to check something, and a guy called to place a takeout order. I wrote it down, told him twenty minutes. And then naturally I fell asleep. Because that’s what restaurant owners who go to work still drunk from the night before do. Luckily the cesspool people called and woke me up. Thanks, Pooper Scoopers, for the averted crisis!

The other part of the day that is really standing out is the part where I’m sitting in front of my keyboard literally dozing off with my fingers on assorted keys. Splendiddddddddddddddddddddddd. I keep waking up and remembering to write, but I My body is telling me to sleep but my brain is saying “Entertain the people, you lazy bitch!” I’ve gotta take my brain’s hint or I’m going to write something as incoherent as the text(s) that every contact in my phone received last evening. Like just now I fell asleep for 42 minutes and woke up because the cat jumped on me. Thanks, kitty for being a big enough bitchy attention whore cat that you woke up your mama. Ugh here we go again. Tack on another ten. This is what happens when boring old ladies like myself get out on the town

*Sidebar: Review of Jimmy’s Wedding – The bride was beautiful! The groomsmen wore patent leather Chuck Taylors because I wouldn’t let him wear them for me and Harry’s wedding so he convinced Jimmy that it was cool and even though I was totally skeptical they really did look fab marching down the aisle! The cocktail hour was stressful because it’s hard to competitively eat pigs in a blanket when you have to follow the girl with the tray across a crowded room! I chose white wine because I don’t really know why! Harry’s best man speech was the greatest 4 minutes in the history of men! And that’s pretty much all I remember. Nicole and I spent most of today piecing back the evening puzzle, and here’s what we came up with in a nutshell: Charlie wore a bow tie. The DJ only played 1/2 of my 3 requests which is such bullshit. (Mr. Brightside by the Killers, Everybody Talks by Neon Trees, Some Nights by fun.)  I threatened the DJ’s life for disappointing me eternally. Jimmy cried a lot. I took photos with strangers. Harry danced. I danced. I spilled an espresso on Charlie. Lisa spilled a cappuccino on herself. Nicole got a black and blue from falling in the limo on the way home. I have some sort of long rounded burn/scratch/tiger bite. Nicole came to pick up her car today and threw up on my lawn.

It was a good night.

To sum up just how intoxicated I was, I DID NOT EAT DESSERT. A disappointing day in my book if ever I’ve heard one!

how the cheesecake factory ruined my life.

22 Jun

So I’ve been thinking about this all day, and I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s absolutely nothing in the whole entire world that is shittier than a fucked up takeout order. Because you know what? If you get injured you can heal. If you get lost you can find a gas station or use your iPhone. If your flight gets delayed you can buy an extra magazine. If you break up with your boyfriend there are like a million other fish in the sea who are probably far better suited for you anyway and don’t have bad breath all the time.

But if you get home and there is no dressing for your salad and your chicken is overcooked and it’s 11pm and you’re so so so exhausted and starving to death because all you ate the whole day was 1/4 of a melted kids size strawberry banana Tropical Smoothie, you’re like 100% shit out of luck. And all the thoughts swimming through your head of drenching your lettuce in that awesome creamy ranch dressing is squandered and you want to cry but you can’t because you’re too hungry and don’t have the energy to produce the tears. And then your husband rolls his eyes at you because you’re sitting with the phone on your ear while you’re having dinner together trying to talk to a manager to make them understand just how frustrated and inconvenienced you truly are and you throw something at him, only you miss because your aim got thrown off with the phone distracting you and you stain your Ethan Allen chairs that you won’t let your stepkid sit on because he’ll make them messy.

This scenario (perhaps slightly less exaggerated when it actually happened) occurred in my home last night.

WHEN WE PICKED UP TAKEOUT FROM THE CHEESECAKE FACTORY.

I caps locked and bolded because I’m not going to be cruel like all the other assholes and write a bad Yelp review about Cheesecake based on one or two or fifteen shitty takeout experiences, but I’m taking a stand in Shelbytown! Fuckin’ Cheesecake Factory ruined my night, possibly even the rest of my week and/or life! HOW DO YOU LEAVE THE BACON OFF A BLT SALAD? Please, somebody tell me how. Oh wait. It doesn’t matter. Because it wasn’t there and I wasn’t going back and when I called to get it taken off our charge, I got put on hold for 15 minutes while the manager (TIM) “ran to the office” (aka hung out with the servers shooting the shit about shift drama) and then finally another manager picked up the phone saying “Hi how can I help you?” and finally took care of my assholic situation.

I didn’t sleep all night. It was horrible. The missing bacon left this void that just kept me up biting my nails until the sun came up.

We do a lot of takeout at the restaurant, and when people call that something is fucked up and they’re all pissed off, I am always sympathetic because out of 10 times a month that we order from Cheesecake Factory, the order is wrong at least 75% of the time. And out of that 75%, Harry’s is perfect and mine sucks 100%. (Also it’s usually when I’m getting my period, which is so convenient because I can order a 3500 calorie slab of chocolate but terrible for the manager on duty because he’s gotta deal with some cranky hungry screaming bitch on the other end trying to get her money back but also make them learn that consistency MATTERS.) Unfortunately sympathy doesn’t make meat less well done or a missing side of mac and cheese appear in a customer’s bag. I’ve taken the following approaches to rectify disappointed guests: home delivery, free dessert, gift certificates, letting the customer personally fire the guilty server who wrapped up the order. I don’t fuck around with takeout.

Because I NEVER want to have to deal with a bitch like me.

how to eat cold cuts whilst viewing a circumcision.

11 Jun

As a Jew, it is customary to provide pastrami and/or lox at the birth, death or Bar Mitzvah of every boy and girl. And last night, the Bris of one of my good ole camp friend’s baby boy was no exception.

The best thing about yesterday’s Bris was that the baby was having trouble getting drunk and numb on Manischevitz so instead of the ceremony happening before the festive meal, we got to eat first. Just kidding. It was the cute baby and his proud parents. Just kidding again! The best part about yesterday’s Bris was that in addition to the standard rye, macaroni salad, lean corned beef spread, there was AN ENTIRE TOTALLY AWESOME DESSERT BUFFET!!! That’s what I opted for, obviously, because I figured that if I only ate dessert for dinner, then when it got later and we had the inevitable dinner #2 that Harry and I are so talented at consuming, I wouldn’t feel quite as guilty.

So I loaded my plate with a glorious 8 chocolate chip cookies, 19 rainbow cookies, 3 chocolate meringues, (the fact that they’re made of egg whites makes me feel like they’re way too healthy) and 195 “oreo truffles,” some genius invention where you grind up oreo cookies, combine them with cream cheese and cover them in chocolate. There was a fruit platter but let’s face it, when you’ve got that many confections (which, may I add, were all made by the proud paternal grandma) at your disposal, who is going to waste their time with honeydew?

 

orgasmic oreo balls. should be illegal. stay tuned to shelbytown for an official recipe. we can all enjoy the balls together!

After the Bris, Harry and I did in fact enjoy a fried chicken dinner and mini strawberry meringue pie. I know you were worried that I’d filled up on the platter of baked goods (and Harry on the 8 half-sandwiches and 3 pounds of potato salad that he snacked on) but we both digested the Bris stuff really quick and were definitely successful for dinner #2.

In celebration of my friend Bari’s babyboy and his injured and exploited penis, here is a list of my personal favorite phallic foods:

1. Rocket Pops (the red white and blue popsicles. Is that what they’re called?) or Jello Puddin’ Pops

2. Corndogs

3. Chocolate Covered Frozen Bananas (with nuts)

4. Corn on the cob

(Can I interrupt myself to point out how these can all be found at State Fairs???)

5. A Freshly Baked Baguette

6. Watermelon Ring Pop (feel bad for that guy’s wife….)

7. King Size Tootsie Roll 

8. Carrots (with dip such as hummus, ranch dressing or french onion soup mix tossed with sour cream)

9. TGI Friday’s Breadsticks (they have to be fresh though, otherwise they get really hard and in this particular circumstance, you’re better off with it being soft)

10. New Pickles (those are the ones that taste just like cucumbers. Yum!!!)

In other news, what the fuck is up with Manishevitz? Why can’t someone who works there speak up and mention that it tastes so nasty and that nobody wants to get drunk at a ceremony on all that sucky sugar? I don’t know, call me crazy, but I think life would be better if cheap kosher wine didn’t taste like fruit punch. Then again, it makes really good sangria.

In more other news, one of the guys who married one of my camp friends is good buddies with a dude who stole my lamp in college. (We took a class together, we were studying in my apartment, yada yada yada, he was running down the street holding my toucan lamp, never to be seen again) I mentioned the situation to him in hopes that my bird lamp will resurface, because it really goes with the decor in my kid’s room like totally well. Plus it’s like vintage at this point.

the vagina monoblogs.

23 May

Yesterday I went to the Lady Doctor for my yearly visit and since my regular doc broke his leg delivering a baby (just kidding?) I was forced to see his fill-in, Dr. Cassanova. Is this truly his real name? I have no idea. Is it what he refers to himself as? Yes, it is. Do I think it’s his Vagina-rific stage name? A little bit. Was he Latin? Si, senoritas. Was he wearing a black shirt and black tie and black pants and did he sound like Antonio Banderas but look like a MonChiChi? Absolutely! Did he use said Antonio Banderas voice to tell me that “I will now bring my lovely assistant and we will examine you!” and a sequin-clad Portuguese gypsy-nurse shimmied in to hand him the necessary tools? Essentially. Did I get felt up and invaded by Zorro yesterday? Sometimes that’s just the way it goes.

Anyway that’s neither here nor there.

After inspecting all of my orifices, Dr. Zorro asked me if there’s anything peculiar going on with my body.

“I have an ear infection and I can’t stop gaining weight.”

“How much weight?”

“Five pounds. Ten, tops. But I have this pregnancy-like area here that was never around before except when I was actually preggers.”

“Hmmm..have your exercise habits recently changed?”

“No. I never exercised and that hasn’t changed.”

He and his circus freak of an assistant scoffed at me. “Well we both know that you need to exercise.”

“I have a very active job.”

“I’m sure you do. What are you doing to try and lose weight?”

“I’ve been layering Spanx.”

And that’s when I decided that I should probably stop eating five meals a day. So far, my diet has consisted of the following:

  • DAY 1:  Drank lots of water for breakfast. Got a 3 pound salad at Whole Foods for lunch (I think the girl fucked up weighing it because how is it possible that I took $7 more than Harry? I mean come on man.) which consisted of kale, quinoa, eggplant, curry chicken and some other boring-ass healthy stuff. Went to Costco but didn’t try any of the samples. Bought a 90 unit box of high fiber brownies. Ate one before we got home because my kale salad was NASTY and I needed to kill the taste. Turns out high fiber brownies are nothing to shout about either. Went to my father-in-law’s farewell dinner. Felt obligated to order the 4 course price fix because I’m a Jew and I can’t turn away a good deal. Justified it by skipping butter with my bread and sharing my dessert with Riley.
  • DAY 2: Ate healthy cereal and didn’t dilute my skim milk with whole milk like I usually do. Drank shit tons of water. Had an omelette for lunch without toast or potatoes which was like sailing without water or sunshine. But I added some salsa, and made a vow to put that stuff on anything I eat until I reach my goal weight of 79 pounds. This includes the chocolate chip pancakes that I will inevitably make by the week’s end. For dinner I had self serve frozen yogurt, and tonight instead of my yogurt to fruit topping to dry topping to wet topping ratio being 1:0:7:8 it was more like 3:2:1:0!!! And I only spent $35 dollars! I drank so much water today that in the twelve minutes it’s taken me to write this post, I’ve had to pee seventeen times. So long water weight!!! Rockin’ the diet already…

As far as exercise, because Dr. Cassanova was SO INSISTENT that I do some, I did 2 reps of fifteen pushups (once in the morning and once at night) and I lifted 35 party chairs without asking for help and I parked at the furthest spot in the lot at Trader Joe’s when I went to get my salsa. Oh and I jumped for joy for at least an hour when I found out that Pretty Little Liars comes back on in a couple of weeks and there’s a show called Nashville that’s starting in September. That has to be good for a few calories burned. Just in case that’s not enough, on Monday I’m gonna go 2-steppin’ with a friend. Ride ’em cowboy!

a very important public service announcement.

25 Apr

So the blogger (and general human being) who I most admire (for being herself, even if it means having a hearty collection of taxidermied mice wearing period costumes) has written a book that is the #1 NY Times Best Seller. 

It’s called “Let’s Pretend This Never Happened,” written by Jenny Lawson. You should buy it, and follow her blog.

That’s all I have to say tonight, because I hope that someone someday will do the same for me when I write my bestselling novel about being a rich and famous weed dealer/professional mix tape maker.

SIDEBAR....
Also, today I shoved a package of lightly cooked Applewood smoked bacon into the very small spout of a bourbon bottle. It was magical.

things i did today when i wasn’t eating.

12 Apr

Absolutely nothing.

Because I ate all day.

Something really fancy about my job is that you are constantly surrounded by food all day, everyday. I thought I’ve done a top notch job training myself not to snack on typical restaurant traps. These are disturbingly appealing during long shifts even though they’re all pretty nasty.

These are the snacks that I NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER (fine, almost never) eat:

  1. Maraschino cherries
  2. Tortilla chips
  3. Half-cooked french fries
  4. Carrots for the wings (crudités if you’re fancy)
  5. Someone’s yogurt that they left in the fridge like 7 weeks ago that you have to have to have
  6. Half a stale donut that someone else brought in on Monday and now it’s Friday morning but you just can’t wait until the pm shift comes in with a new goody
  7. Starburst mints (That’s what we call them. they’re the ones that taste like candy canes and leave a film on your tongue for a week)
  8. The gold wrapped pats of butter (don’t judge me.)
  9. Olives *
  10. Coffee with fancy supermarket creamer *

*I’m counting #9 and #10 even though I enjoy neither coffee nor olives. I could eat them out of desperation but I don’t. Therefore they make the list.

As I already mentioned earlier this afternoon, a spectacular platter of cupcakes arrived at the restaurant at about noon. I snapped a photo right before I started working on this post. Here is what the platter looks like now, mostly thanks to me and one of Riley’s almost-two-year-old friends who came to visit me at work:

this was once quite yummy.

 

I additionally polished off a grilled cheese sandwich with tomato and some super buttery bacon on tomato basil bread. I wish I could attribute the sandwich to Hashbrown Harry’s research, but alas, a grilled cheese sandwich is not a breakfast item unless it has an egg on it, and this particular one did not.

Then for the rest of the day (in between bites of cupcake, of course) I complained about how tight my (once loose) pants are and how big my ass is and how I look 7 months preggers. Fortunately I got a really good new haircut and figured out how to blow it out the right way, so nobody is paying much attention to my expanded frame.

Tomorrow I’ll only eat water. I promise.

Anyway, it’s now 11pm and I’m still at work, and my salad is getting cold and so is Harry’s apple, onion & gorgonzola stuffed pork chop, which he will hopefully share with me. You do understand that because we work late, we restaurant people are entitled to a fourth meal, right? I didn’t make it this way, it’s just how it is….

 

do they still make vegetables? and other questions i often ask.

4 Apr

I’m no dentist or oral specialist, but I believe that as a result of my sugarful diet over the past couple of weeks, my tongue is beginning to disintegrate. At first I thought that maybe I was having some sort of allergic reaction to something I ate, but after yesterday’s food fest of a birthday, I have very little feeling between my bottom teeth,

I’m thinking that not having a tongue (or at least a whole tongue) might prove burdensome, so it’s obviously time to make some adjustments in my meals. Today I sat at the computer to figure out what I can possibly eat that is healthy, but also made of cheese and/or chocolate. I’m sure vegetables would be good. Do they even make those anymore? And if so, how might I prepare them that they would resemble a milkshake? I hit up Pinterest and entered “vegetable chocolate” to no avail.

In order to prevent myself from baking the pumpkin chocolate cookie recipe I found (surely that isn’t what my tongue has in mind) I shifted my focus to other questions that keep me up at night.

  1. Why is it OK for Harry to snore, but not me? I don’t know what’s up with the double standards these days. We girls act all empowered and shit, but in actuality we’re expected to be demure and not snort whilst in dreamland. That’s bull. When I was in camp we were all about sharing our bodily functions with the world. I feel so stifled these days. I can’t even say the F-word without cringing. (-art, not -uck. I think we all know I’m not shy about the latter…)
  2. At what age do I have to stop watching the Disney Channel? I’ve been asking this question for years, dreading the day that I have to choose more “suitable” programming like Anderson Cooper or the news or House Hunters International or Jersey Shore. Lately I’ve just been too busy to watch, and I figure by the time I do have enough time to sit down and veg and watch Wizards of Waverly Place, Riley will be a tween and I’ll have a perfect excuse.
  3. Why does asparagus make your pee smell? I found an excerpt from a book called “Why Do Men Have Nipples?” written by Dr. Billy Goldberg and Mark Leyner (who’s coincidentally one of my favorite writers of all time) that explains the phenomenon pretty well (or it’s totally made up, I didn’t fact check with Wikipedia so I really don’t know). “Asparagus contains a sulfur compound called mercaptan. It is also found in onions, garlic, rotten eggs, and in the secretions of skunks. The signature smell occurs when this substance is broken down in your digestive system. Not all people have the gene for the enzyme that breaks down mercaptan, so some of you can eat all the asparagus you want without stinking up the place. One study published in the British Journal of Clinical Pharmacology found that only 46 percent of British people tested produced the odor while 100 percent of French people tested did. Insert your favorite French joke here________________________________.”
  4. Who the fuck can afford to fly first class? For real, what am I doing wrong? I work both blue- and white-collarly, I peddle my words pretty consistently, I keep my house clean and stocked with toilet paper, paper towels and tissues at all times, I taught my babygirl to say thank you, I have fabulous hair, yet I can’t recline my seat more than 14° when I’m flying somewhere. Surely the system is flawed. Free headsets for all!!!
  5. What cereal should I use to make cereal milk for Hashbrown Harry’s? Last night Harry and I went to Momofuku Milk Bar (my best description: a gourmet, dive coffee shop sans coffee and chairs and a bathroom) and we ordered the cereal milk and looked at each other and we both shouted “Raisin Bran!” in unison. Which got me thinking about how much I love Cocoa Krispies milk. And Frosted Flakes, but only with 2%. Charlie said Fruity Pebbles (obviously) and Jordan (the bartender who is going to be soooooo psyched that I’m writing about him and probably frame this post right now but that’s just speculation and also he’s a Jew so he’s nice to have around when I’m DYING to talk about gefilte fish and Elijah) said Frosted Shredded Wheat with little bits of the cereal left in the milk for texture and I was like “EW FREAK THAT’S A CHOKING HAZARD” and I would have smacked him but it was over Bluetooth.
  6. When are you going to be able to smack people over Bluetooth? Won’t that be great?

Anyway, something you need to know is that you can’t come to Hashbrown Harry’s without a reservation. It’s going to be approximately $55, if that’s what you’ve been waiting for. Save up your Shekels, it’s definitely worth it. Also, there are no VIPs at Hashbrown Harry’s, so don’t get all cocky and think “Well I worked on the Harbinger with Shelby when we were in High School,” or “Shelby and I got drunk enough together in college for me to be assured a seat,” or “I promised I’d be a regular customer when Shelby finally decides to live out her dream of becoming a weed dealer.” No dice.You need a reso. hashbrownharrys@gmail.com or bust.

Also if you have a cereal milk preference kindly let me know. Me, Charlie and Jordan are going to have a taste testing session in the next couple days, as long as we’re all feeling highly lactose tolerant so we’ll give your suggestion a go.

OFF TO DINE ON LEFTOVER BIRTHDAY CAKE! Vegetables will still be growing tomorrow.

a post before 10pm! yippee skippee!

29 Mar

Last night we made lemon ricotta pancakes with strawberries, bananas and nutella (not all in one, we’re not animals. jeez.) until 1:30am. They were delicious, but you’re not going to get them at Hashbrown Harry’s because they just weren’t “je ne sais quois” enough, so oh well. I do have a tendency to cook my friends pancakes on their birthdays at around the same time of night, so maybe if you’re fortunate enough to become my friend right before your birthday I’ll do you something good.

Oddly enough, I woke up with a mild bellyache. So now I can’t eat anymore pancakes or eggs. I guess I’m on to mimosa and hash brownie test tasting for the rest of the week.

In other news, come pick up your limited edition Hashbrown Harry’s business cards while they last starting April 4th. You know where, don’t make me tell you. Or if you want me to mail you one leave a comment.

In fact, just leave a comment anyway, ok? Like how you can’t wait for April 28th. Or that you think I’m super hot. Or, if you’re my mom, you can tell me you hate eggs.

dreams do come true, sometimes in the form of poached eggs.

21 Mar

One of the most important things you have to do when you’re opening a restaurant is eat as much food as possible. Something I learned this week about Harry is that poaches a mean egg. Something he learned about me is that I’m a bottomless pit when it comes to perfectly poached eggs. We’re quite a team.

Today Harry made an andouille hash benedict topped with a bacon and corn infused hollandaise. If it wouldn’t have interrupted my eating, I would have fainted with delight.

We spent the rest of the day brainstorming ideas, (I want to devil a quail egg but can’t decide what to fill it with; he wants the t-shirts to be brown) arguing over the start time for the pop-up, (he says 10pm, I’m scared you won’t want to stay up that late, you boring suburbanites) and deciding how many courses the tasting menu will be (7).

In addition to eating, brainstorming, arguing and deciding things, we also conquered a few other totally vital steps. They are as follows:

  • Bought the domain name. That’s right, www.hashbrownharrys.com is officially ours, thanks to Danica Patrick exposing her bra at the Super Bowl. Do we have any clue whatsoever how to proceed with this little treasure? Absolutely not.

 

  • Hired a marketing chick and a business guy. So to speak. In actuality, Nicole is going to write a press release (known to many of us as a Facebook Status Update) and Charlie is going to count how many reservations we’ve taken and figure out how many eggs we’ll need.

 

  • Looked up what’s in season at the Farmer’s Market. Something exciting about the end of April is the abundance of rhubarb and absolutely nothing else. Get ready for an overwhelmingly thrilling tasting menu.

 

  • Designed the Logo. A fun fact about me is that I have a sick obsession with fonts. It took me approximately 125 hours to choose the proper script for my wedding addresses. I’m totally exaggerating, it was more like 150 hours. Here’s what I’ve got so far. Kindly ignore the horrible quality of this image, I’m really tired from being a creative genius all day…

Hashbrown Harry's Logo

  • Googled stuff. No restaurant could possibly exist without Google, and Hashbrown Harry’s is no exception. Today I looked up recipes for homemade marshmallows, read about the local egg farm, and checked to see if it is possible to make my own organic fruit loops. The answer is yes, if you’re a ridiculous hippie, which I just so happen to be.

 

  • Invited my therapist to dinner. I just feel like maybe she won’t think I’m crazy once she gets her hands on 7 courses of late-night breakfast excellence.

 

As you can see, we’re practically ready to open. The only things I haven’t figured out are how much this (priceless) meal is going to cost you and how I’m going to sell tickets. I’d say Live Nation but I’m mad at them right now for selling out of Phish before I could get seats. Perhaps I’ll just take reservations like I usually do. That seems to work. I also need find some old lumber to turn into art installments and candle holders, because I’m going for a vintage barn look. I really wish I had a rusty old watering can to fill with flowers.

That would really bring the whole room together.