Chocolatey foodie adventures in the city

New York City is a very peculiar town. Never in my life have I seen men dress better than women, a glass of wine for $2 on one street and $20 on the next and people dress up as mermaids to frolic in the streets. Nonetheless, I fell in love with it.

My best friends, Rach and Jess, and I met up with the Rachel's family for breakfast. But not just any breakfast. Norma’s breakfast – which specializes in packing at least 10 pounds to your thighs, hips and ass before 11 a.m. Now normally I would complain about these unwanted calories, but Norma’s had a “sweet” way of enticing us. It’s one of those, you know, dessert-for breakfast, you’re-never-gonna-eat-anything-this-good-ever-again kinda places. Yeah. That was this. But this was WAY better. So I splurged on the PB&C Waffle. That’s peanut butter and chocolate in and on a waffle for those of you not in-the-know. And it was sinful. The best sin I have ever tasted. The only thing that I am disappointed about, now that I have come to the realization, is that I will never eat anything as good ever again. What a shame. Not even through a quarter of my life and I have already had my best meal.

The following day, the three of us window-shopped in the Upper West Side and made our way to Levain Bakery - isn’t it awful that more often than not the highlight of my day includes fattening food? But this wasn’t an average bakery. The little cookie haven was featured on the Food Network – specifically on “Throwdown with Bobby Flay”. Each cookie is half a pound. And it gave Norma’s a run for its money, which is an awfully difficult task.

The three of us shared the signature four cookies – chocolate chip walnut, dark chocolate chocolate chip, oatmeal raisin and dark chocolate peanut butter chip. So while the bakers were rolling out the dough, we practically rolled ourselves out the door.

After tons more walking around to lose some of the cookie calories, Jess and I decided we were in the mood for Thai food for dinner. I had asked a random man I met at a sushi bar about what one place in the city I shouldn’t miss eating at, and he told me about a place in Brooklyn called Sea. Though Brooklyn isn’t Jess and my's favorite place to be, we were craving great Thai.

Sea was on a chic street and had the most amazing atmosphere – low tables, wooden benches hanging from medal chains attached to the ceiling and Plexiglas bubble chairs also hanging from the ceiling . The pad thai was cheap and delicious – just the way I like.

And best of all, the people there were just cool. Artsy and cool. So cool, in fact, that you would think they were un-cool, but they were not. They, in their high-waisted pants, vests, scarves, vintage and the like, were ahead of the trend. So ahead that they all looked almost out of place and quirky. Good food and cool company scored this Thai joint an A++ in my book.

Solo eating - not so awful after all

Funny thing about New York City (which, as far as I am concerned, is all about love and couples) is that people seem perfectly content being alone.

Take my favorite petite French Bistro, Le Pain Quotidien – which serves the most outstanding organic wheat bread at communal tables.

Jess and I opted to sit side-by-side at a long, wooden communal table in the center of the restaurant. After walking for 3 hours through the museum, tartines, or open-faced sandwiches, were just what we were looking for. Not able to chose just one plate, Jess and I decided to share. I ordered the chicken curry salad tartine with side of harissa-cranberry chutney. Jess chose the ricotta tartine with mission figs, black pepper & organic acacia honey. Between the two dishes, we were stuffed and pleasantly satisfied.

While we giggled over stories from the night before as we ate, we looked around us and realized that we were being boisterous. Though we were only whispering, practically no one else was talking. It was then that we realized that most people were eating alone – an undertaking (more like a chore) that Jess and I would never regularly fathom.

Across from us: A European man who cut his sandwich with a knife and fork and then proceeded to eat it with a fork; a totally distraught woman blabbing to the waitress a-mile-a-minute about her life; a beautiful, blonde hopeful (talk about a Rembrandt) eating a muffin and tartine while finishing today’s crossword.

Though we were dumbfounded, we both conceded to the fact that if the food tastes that delicious, it's totally worth eating alone.

NYC is just like traveling the world

Who needs to travel the world when you can just go to New York City? If America is the melting pot of the world, the city is center of the pot closest to the burner – and I mean that in the nicest sense of the term, honestly. Because the various people here are so proud of their heritage, they all seem to have the same idea - create a restaurant to make their home away from home a bit homier.

Saturday night, I somehow managed to drag Cris and Jess to an Ethiopian restaurant, Marakeseum, in the West Village. In traditional Ethiopian style, we dipped the spongy, sourdough-like crepes into pureed veggies and meat on a platter that the three of us shared. No personal plates and no utensils. We went back to our basic instincts of eating with our hands and reaching over one another to gobble up the lentils, chic peas and cabbage that all looked like different types of hummus. The three of us agreed it was delicious, and the vegetables had enough flavor to make us contemplate becoming vegetarian. That inkling quickly faded Sunday night when we headed into Little Italy for some authentic Italian.

It smelled like home cooking. Like the familiar smell of walking into a friend or relative’s house for a dinner they have been preparing for hours. With more than 20 different homemade pasta dishes on the menu (al dante style, I may add) and enough sauce choices to make you gain 15lbs. just from reading them, the trattoria was any pasta lover’s dream. And I couldn’t help but make a fuss over the best sweet, aged balsamic vinegar I’ve ever had.

I guess you could say two days ago, I was in Ethiopia, and yesterday, I was in Italy…without a visa and without the immunization. I am pretty much eating my way through the Big Apple…and the rest of the world. Not too shabby.

So when Jess and I were window-shopping in SoHo on Saturday and we found a truffle bar and tea salon, we couldn’t help but stop in. What is a truffle bar? Better yet, what the hell is a tea salon? Only in New York City, I tell ya. And the chocolate truffles were just as diverse as the people in the city.

Our particular truffle bar, Vosges, specialized in infusing its chocolate with exotic spices from around the world. Confused? We were too…so let me give you a taste. The first chocolate truffle is blended with curry powder and Indian spices. The second one is mixed with macadamia nuts to remind its consumers of Australia. The third, with a hint of green absinthe, is reminiscent of China. The fourth mixes Taleggio cheese and walnuts into the chocolate to suggest Italy. The fifth is infused with purple orchids (my favorite flower) and caramelized bananas to round out the bunch (and my tummy).

I have decided that NYC is perhaps the only place in the world where people make chocolate not taste like chocolate. I’ve heard it said that people in the city are all artists in some form or venue, whether they are performing or writing or painting on the street. I just never expected to see someone use chocolate as a medium to tell stories of worldly travels.

The tea salon (which, for the life of me, I cannot remember the name of!) provided cold treats. Mid-afternoon, I savored a light, guava iced tea, and Jess drank iced chocolate. No, I didn’t mean hot chocolate. I really did mean iced chocolate. Like slurping a liquid, milk chocolate candy bar. Sheer bliss.

The bald man does chocolate right

By the time my day is done, I am usually sleepy until I remind myself that I’m in New York, and I can’t miss out. (Come on KP, don’t be lame!)

Because my roommates and I are all so busy during the day, the only real time we get to play is in the evenings. Though we enjoy hitting up some of the nightlife, most of the clubs stay open until ridiculously late hours here (unlike in Gainesville where “last call” is at 2 a.m.). As a result, we quickly learned that sometimes it’s best to save the wild nights for the weekends…when we don’t have to go anywhere super early the next morning. Still, we all need a little salvation every once in a while.

That’s why last night, Jess, Cristina and I decided to treat ourselves to a little late night sweet at Max Brenner Chocolate by the Bald Man. It probably doesn't help that it's within a two-minute walk from our Union Square apartment.

A chic chocolate bar inspired by the one and only Willy Wonka, Max Brenner is right up this chocolate lover's alley. Its menu features chocolate martinis, chocolate pizza, chocolate truffles, chocolate ice cream, hot chocolate, s’mores and its famous chocolate fondue. Can you say paradise or what? My mouth salivated the moment I walked in the door.

We three musketeer-ettes shared the fondue, the chocolate and banana pizza and a sampler platter while chatting and catching up until the bistro turned up the dimmed lights and started locking the doors. It was a fun – and fattening – way for us to get out of the apartment.

Hard to escape Japanese food in NYC

It’s a small world after all.

New York City. Population: about 1.2 million. Essentially, that makes me 1 in a million. And I’m running around this madhouse of a town like a chicken without a head. So how is it possible that I keep running into people I know? It’s become the norm that I bump into someone I know at least once a day. I actually find myself thinking that it is strange if I don’t. In the subway, right as the doors open to the yellow R line headed downtown- a friend from college. On the street during my dinner break - a friend from high school. And in the park – a woman my close friend Jess and I became friendly with when we were shopping on Saturday.
Apparently one in a million isn’t such a big deal. What a let down.

Hoping to escape it all, Jess and I were looking for a simple dinner. All we wanted to do is avoid Asian food because it seems that’s all we’d eat in this town. Not too much to ask for right? Wrong.

“Too expensive,” “I’m not in the mood,” “It looks bad,” “Eh, look who’s eating inside,” and “It’s closed,” all kept us from chowing down. We were looking for champagne taste at a beer’s budget. Between all of our squabbling back and forth, somehow we ended up blocks away from our flat and hungry. Jess, being a good sport, agreed to check out some hole-in-the-wall eatery that, of course, I believed sounded wonderful – “a real cultural experience.” Turns out that all our negative Nancy-isms, except for “it’s closed,” accumulated in this restaurant… after we are seated.

The food wasn’t cheap. And what do you know - it’s Asian; actually, it’s Japanese. But not just Japanese (oh no do not say that or else the waiter will laugh in your face) it’s a noodle bar. The menu is totally in Japanese and, when we look around us, we realize we are the only Americans in the entire restaurant. If I didn’t know any better, I would have bet that Jess and I had hopped on a flight to Japan and were preparing to eat our first meal there. Feeling ignorant, we asked the waiter to order for us. He brought out bowls as big as our heads filled with soup, noodles, veggies and some sort of meat (probably chicken gizzard, I kid you not). Well, I am happy to report that the food was actually pretty tasty, lasted me two meals and didn’t make me sick. But I still don’t really know what I ate.

So it turns out that I am adventurous by steering Jess and myself to a random, local place that serves fish eyeballs as a delicacy. Nice one KP. And all I know now is that I am still going to have to try ridiculously hard to not eat Asian in this city. Oh, excuse me, Japanese, which is what I attempted to avoid in the first place. Back to square one.

On our way back home, Jess and I stopped in a tiny ice-cream shop in the East Village because we both agreed we deserved a treat for putting up with dinner. Because some higher being was truly having fun with us, it turns out the sundae shop we enter is a Japanese ice-cream shop (what can I say - when it rains, it pours!) that sells sesame, red bean, ginger and wasabi ice-cream. We were done being adventurous. We settled for reasonably normal flavors (I get the Mocha Chip, and Jess gets the Maple Walnut) in the smallest size they sell. We were nearly sick after the gargantuan bowls of Ramen and the little sweet treat was enough to curb the craving just in the nick of time.