A good question was posed tonight in the comments. Why am I not fat?
Well, to answer, I’m not NOT getting fat. There are folds here and there. Some parts are fuller than others. I should probably ride the elevator down to the floor with the gym that I paid extra money in my lease to join. But then, really, riding the elevator in and of itself seems like exercise enough. Plus, I don’t really eat like this when I’m not on a break. I’m still on a break. I don’t go back to school ’til the 18th. Ok? OK?!
With that said, today I binged at The Chelsea Market. It was awesome.
I walked in and I wandered and tried to figure out what it was I wanted. There was this horribly bratty kid screaming. Then the mother said to the child (in a gesture sure to make a therapist very wealthy someday): “If you don’t stop screaming we’re going to LEAVE you here!” The kid screamed louder.
I found a cool tunnel of Christmas lights:
Then I turned back around and decided to eat lunch at the only actual waiter/waitress type joint: The Green Table. It was basically empty and seemed very inviting. The walls were red, the tables were green (as per the name). An article about it by Eric Asimov was pasted outside. I was sold.
A waitress brought over a bowl of popcorn flavored with ancho chile and orange:
I’d like to say it was thoroughly delicious, but the popcorn didn’t taste fresh. (Ironic since this place was all about freshness. (It has an actual mission statement, involving the Alice Waters’ quote: “Eating is a political act.” (This extra parentheses within parentheses is just for fun–I like having to put three in a row now.))) But the flavoring was, indeed, delicious. I snacked greedily.
Eventually, I ordered salmon flavored with honey and soy and served with some kind of cooked cabbage slaw and rice.
Holy Creedence Clearwater Revival, this may have been the best salmon I ever tasted. Seriously. Honey and soy and whatever else was on there made my lips smack together like divas at a karaoke bar. And the rice was amazing–it was almost risotto-like. I don’t know how they cooked it. I scraped my plate clean. The waitress acknowledge my enjoyment by bringing me the check. I paid. To quote Frank Sinatra: “It was a very good meal.”
Then I meandered around the market. I went to the Italian store, Buon Italia and saw some reasonably priced truffles:
I bought four and canceled the rest of my education.
I then bought the most insanely good cookies ever. (No, I didn’t eat them there–I’m not THAT gluttonous. I simply waited until an hour ago when I tore the bag open and devoured 80 of them.)
These are the best pre-packaged cookies you will ever taste. They are so so buttery and then they are filled what is almost definitely Nutella. They’re impossible to stop eating. I’m even eating one now. ATOEIHJT:IH:T AIwht;iaHT: TIH: (<--sorry, involuntary response to the cookie's deliciousness.) Finally, while I was still at the Market, I bought something I read about a long time ago in New York Magazine's Food Issue. One of the chefs said the pecan bars at Amy's Bread are terrific so I bought one:
And it WAS terrific. Why was it terrific? Because the pecans were salty and everything else was sweet and dense. I loved that combo. It melted in your mouth and sent tingles to your hoohah. (Ok, just kidding–I don’t have a hoohah. I have a hoho.)
And that was it. Typing this post probably burnt many many calories, didn’t it? I shouldn’t worry–should I?
What’s that sound?