Please Don’t Tell But I’ve Never Had A Drink at Please Don’t Tell

One of my favorite New York novelties is the existence of Please Don’t Tell in New York’s East Village. On St. Marks, between 1st and A, is a hog dog emporium called Crif Dogs. Looks innocent enough. But what you don’t realize, unless you know the secret, is that the phone booth that you see on the left when you walk in? It’s really a secret entrance to what’s supposed to be one of New York’s best bars, a bar called Please Don’t Tell. We’re big fans of the P.D.T. cocktail book but I’ve never actually been to Please Don’t Tell. Many a time I’ve gone into that phone booth, dialed a number, and many a time I’ve been told there’s an insanely long wait. And every time, including this most recent time, we decide not to wait. But still…

Secrets of the Amateur Gourmet

[Here’s a bonus guest post, written my friend and cat-sitter, Travis Sentell, who stayed in my apartment for the two weeks I was in Barcelona. Here’s what he uncovered.]

In the interest of time, honesty and full-disclosure, I’d like to publicly identify here at the outset as “food ignorant.” Not in the way that many of you may identify, and certainly not in the way that Adam himself might identify (after a hefty glass of Riunite D’oro), but rather, in a deep-seated “I only make eggs” way. And not even good eggs. Just, you know, eggs. Sometimes with toast.

But I AM qualified to post here for one extremely specific reason—I have spent the last 15 days living alone in the apartment of the Amateur Gourmet. Ladies (and gentlemen), wipe your chins, calm your jealousy, settle. During these exciting two weeks, I learned a great deal about cat hair, food, and myself, but I’d like to forgo all of that and cut right to the heart of the matter, the question we’ve all been asking ourselves—what exactly does the Amateur Gourmet have in his apartment? What twisted food products lurk ‘neath his salad crispers, what strange pots grace his range? I thought we could all learn from how a real chef stocks his fridge, cabinets and spice rack. So read on, Peeping Toms!

Excitement & Needling

Yesterday was a big day for your friend The Amateur Gourmet. What happened? I can’t tell you yet and it’s not entirely clear what the future holds, but I promise to share more in January. Sorry for being a tease!

In the mean time, don’t forget to donate to Menu For Hope IV. I noticed many of you bid on the dinner at Blue Hill at Stone Barns (UE01) but very few of you bid on an autographed copy of my book and an authentically made Amateur Gourmet pastry (UE02). What does that say about your allegiance, loyal reader? Must you stomp on my ego as you raise money for charity? Show a little compassion, will you? Happy holidays!

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