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

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.

if i had a cauldron…

If I had a cauldron, after my babygirl drifted off to dreamland, I’d cook enormous quantities of pot butter in the backyard over a lovely homemade campfire. While it brewed I’d lay on a lounge chair staring up at the stars, dreaming up magnificent flavors of cookies. I would make a mental list of alternatives to Rice Krispies with which to create the most delicious treat in town.

I’d despose of the old weed in the dumpster, and some random dudes would stumble upon it and think they were getting lucky, but no beans, my friends. No beans.

I would keep the butter a special refrigerator, and in my spare time I’d whip up goodies galore in my special oven. I would use only the highest quality ingredients, such as organic flour and agave nectar, and source locally whenever possible, such as with Long Island honey and apples (that’s very Jewish, I’m well aware, but I’ve got to go with the demographics, do I not?).

I would hold Baked Sales all over town. I would host Special Pancake Breakfasts for adult softball leagues. I would set up a 10×10 popup tent outside of Whole Foods on the day before Thanksgiving and sell my hyper-local desserts, as a variety of stuffings. Life would be glorious and I would have business cards made up on moo.com because their stuff is just way better than the competition.

My customers would be like chill, man. I’d outsource to cutting edge hipster places that only take cash. I’d hire an intern.

People would accuse me of wanting to be Nancy Botwin from “Weeds” but the fact of the matter is that she converted to be a Jew, and I started out as one. Plus she’s fiction and I’m real. We both wear short skirts, making that round a wash. So I win.

In conclusion, I would like a cauldron for Hanukkah. Also a puppy.

double, double toil + trouble.

a deep reflection on my mediocre parenting skills.

I had a camp reunion last night so probably some people are only going to be reading this so they can get juicy gossip, like was dancing on the bar and who went home with whom and who looked like shit and who was a douchebag this time, but I don’t really feel like divulging any such information just yet. I need more time to let it all marinate before I analyze the evening. Plus I want to rope you into reading about other parts of my life, you egomaniac. It’s not all about you. Get over yourself. And please stop reading my blog on the toilet, it’s kind of awkward.

So tomorrow is my babygirl’s 2nd birthday. I feel like it’s right about now that I really have to start parenting, instead of just going with the progressional flow, which is basically what I’ve been doing for the past 1 year, 11 months and 30 days or whatever. It’s not that I want to, but she probably isn’t going to raise herself in the way that she’s been doing so far. Like, for the longest time I’ve been putting her in her crib and she just goes to sleep. There is literally nothing I do except turn her little noise machine on to the sound of the waves. And she can even do that now, so my one responsibility became sort of unnecessary as far as the bedtime hour goes. But now I probably have to do things like get her a big girl bed and maybe a pillow and/or blanket. Other things I’ll have to start doing is crazy tedious – sign her up for nursery school which starts in like a week, get her to stop peeing in a diaper and teach her that sprinting away from your loved ones in crowded malls is unacceptable behavior unless you have an alternate ride home. Oh jeez, she’s already getting rides home from the mall? Where the fuck is the time going? I feel like it was earlier this afternoon that I was flipping through “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” trying to find an answer to whether or not my kid would be born with hair because I had so much heartburn. (Yes, she was born with hair. No, I do not miss Tums.) Now she’s tramping it up on (play)dates with all these little baby dudes and going shopping and walking on the balance beam (yes I’m going to exploit her because I want my kid to be worth $9 million in endorsements whether or not she needs to leave the state to make that happen). I feel like I just want to slow down and make time stop so I can take it all in.

Well, maybe time can stop on Sunday, because her birthday party is giving me so much anxiety that the 14 Xanax I popped a little while ago aren’t even making a dent. I mean, I’m totally hallucinating right now and I’m typing while standing on my head and the cat keeps asking me if I’ve got a light, but other than that, seriously they have no effect. I don’t understand why my family is unable to throw a low key party. People do it all the time. They go to a restaurant and they sit at a table and have a meal and everyone goes home. That’s all I wanted. Actually, I really didn’t want a party at all. What the hell does my babygirl know? Is she going to turn 13 and be like “Fuck you mom, you didn’t throw me a 2nd birthday party. I wanted to play paintball and you shafted me. You’re a bitch and I never want to talk to you again” and then get in the car with some 17 year old from LA who wants to take pictures of her for his photography portfolio? Maybe, but you can’t live your life in fear. Not that it matters, because my nonexistent party turned into a circus once again. Why does every party have to be a fabulous soiree?

Oh, that’s right, because I’m an ass kicking party planner and Harry goes along with whatever I want because he’s smart like that. And my parents like to have parties at their house because my dad has a gardening fetish and my mom likes to give gardening tours culminating in a hand-picked lunch of cherry tomatoes and string beans. So weather permitting, that is what will go down tomorrow. This party wound up being low key. It’s pretty ghetto in fact. So ghetto that I ordered the cake from a bakery and used a matchy matchy Party City pattern (peace owls, which I have to admit is cute even if it is mass produced  and totally unoriginal). Normally if the theme were peace and owls we would have an actual owl at the party, embroider owls into the tablecloths and hire a John Lennon impersonator. But like I said, low key.

Luckily my dad has some totally homosexual hat that he bought in the Caribbean, so nobody will notice that the strings on the balloons aren’t color coordinated with the liner in the bread basket. I mean, I’ll know and it will be somewhat devastating but I will probably survive. I’m dressing my babygirl in one of those cotton candy looking tutus that those British girls on the Ellen Show wear (ugh I like totally wish my kid were British it would be so awesome). Harry thinks she’s wearing a polo shirt and patchwork Ralph Lauren shorts because his only request this year was that she dress like a normal human being and not a pom pom. But what fun is giving him what he wants? Then he might get used to it and I’m like totally fucked.

Tonight to celebrate my daughter’s coming of age, I did what any responsible adult would do. We got matching tattoos!!!! They’re little peace signs on our feet and they’re justalittlebit crooked and I love love love them and so does she. Even though they’re going to wash off in 1-3 showers, I still feel like I’m influencing her in all the right ways, and I can already tell that she’s cooler than me, which I didn’t even think was possible.

ps. Dearest daughter. One day you will be old enough to read mommy’s posts. You shouldn’t curse this much, it isn’t ladylike. Other than that your mommy is perfect so do everything she does unless it’s illegal and then just don’t get caught. All my love, Mommy.

the official shelbytown summer 2012 yogurt crazy challenge. (day 1)

As I’ve mentioned briefly and frustratingly in the past, I have developed a few theories regarding the self-serve fro yo place that have proven true time and time again.

#1: It is impossible to spend less than $5 per yogurt.

#2: No matter how many yogurts you are purchasing, you are always asked if you want a lid.

#3: You are also asked if you want a bag.

Tonight was no exception, and as a result, I’ve decided to go to Yogurt Crazy every night this summer (unless I’m out of town/full/not in the mood) and keep a detailed log on the experience.

Night #1: July 3rd, 10:53pm

Number of yogurts purchased: 2

Topping Highlights: Waffle cones drizzled in hot fudge.

Total cost: $10.41

Average cost per yogurt: $5.20 and a half

Cashier gender: Male

Tan: Deep orange.

Asked if I need lids: Yes

Asked if I also need a bag: Yes

Cashier placed the yogurts in the bag: No

Additional notes: Tonight the only other customers were two girls who hovered over each flavor for a good forty-five seconds each. It took me five minutes to swirl my 2 yogurts because they were hogging the cake batter/cookies n’ cream machine with dumbfounded indecision. I beat them to the toppings but one girl skipped in front of me, then stood there and stared at the containers because she absolutely could not decide between regular coconut and toasted coconut. If I see these girls again I will exit the premises immediately.

how to eat cold cuts whilst viewing a circumcision.

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.

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!

things i did today when i wasn’t eating.

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.

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!

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.

Vacation update.

Last night we went to dinner at this place called The Ravenous Pig (aka the theme of our week) and I had moonshine but was very concerned because I heard people have died from that shit but Harry wouldn’t let me ask the waiter if any of the customers had passed away, or been hospitalized at the very least, because he’s mean and no fun.
Other examples of his mean streak are that he volunteered me to ride by myself on the tower of terror and he threw my right African Lady shoe in the garbage, insisting I replace it with a Mickey Mouse Croc.
Anyway, I had to ditch the food photo idea because our dinner last night was so good that we ate it before we remembered to take a photo.

Ps. We went to a bar that served strips of bacon instead of chips or popcorn.

Oh, and Harry and I decided that we’re going to start selling Butter Beer (this incredible yumminess sold exclusively at Harry Potter World or whatever it’s called) at the restaurant so get pumped.