as we may blog

Has a meal ever stayed with you for days after the fact (setting aside for the moment the Italian sausage sandwich at the 1/2 Mile Bar and Grill)? The Red Hook ball fields provided us with just that sort of feeling last weekend. Fresh, spicy, filling, and cheap Mexican/Central American street food. Everyone should go—if a chance to see the underside of the BQE isn’t reason enough to visit Red Hook, then surely this is, uh, another good reason to visit Red Hook.

And now the bastards want to take it away:

The city, eager as ever for the fat stacks that only a bidding war by commercial concessions can offer, has given the vendors notice that their Temporary Use Agreement, the permit given to them by the Department of Parks and Recreation, won’t be renewed. The city wants to open the parks up for concession bids, which will almost certainly mean an end to the makeshift food stalls that have been operating there for over ten years.

Save Soccer Tacos has info for NYCers to voice their displeasure. Thanks to Iain for the links.

Chorizo huarache with everything

This is one of the more informative pieces I’ve read about the construction and ongoing use of the Alameda-Weehawken Burrito Tunnel.

By the time the burritos reach Cedar Rapids (traveling well over a mile a second) they are heated through, and anyone who managed to penetrate into the tunnel through the Cleveland access shafts would find them ready to eat.

Link swiped from kottke.

So I was lying around shirtless in Greenpoint yesterday, but I wasn’t doing any of the things one might expect a strapping young lad sans chemise to be doing in Greenpoint (such as walking my Pomeranian or making sausage). No, fair readers, instead I was getting an EKG in a walk-in clinic probably better known for its drive-thru urinalysis than its cardiac care. I won’t bore you with the details, but I ended up in this unlikely situation after spending an uncomfortable night wondering why I couldn’t breathe and why I had chest pains. I thought it was the flu. My kind walk-in doctor proved otherwise, but only after confirming that I wasn’t in fact having a heart attack.

48 hours later, it seems the culprit is nothing more than a considerable case of acid reflux. The good news is that I’m on the path to wellness because of the doctor’s strict order to not enjoy anything in the next week—no alcohol, no foods with tastes, and god damnit no coffee.

After I gasped and wheezed my way home, I thought back to the gastronomic experiences of the previous week. It wasn’t pretty, in medical retrospect. Pilsner, octopus, chorizo, braised short ribs, red wine, chocolate cake, cognac, Guinness, chicken strips, French cheese, more pilsner, more red wine, pasta with fresh fish and a spicy cream sauce, more chocolate cake, spicy sausages and Miller High Life (go Hawks), scotch, scallops, apple crisp, brandy, wild rice soup, and more Guinness.

That list is in order and spans four days. I had it coming.

Grocery shopping is a radically different experience in New York compared to any other place I’ve lived. Trips to Met Foods are almost guaranteed to end in tears, and not just because a box of Honey Bunches of Oats (with Real Strawberries) costs $5. The stores are cramped and the selection is usually terrible, as groceries struggle against NYC real estate rates to make every cubic foot of space profitable. Even the Trader Joe’s sucks real hard—you get in the checkout line when you walk in the store and proceed to shop while in line. I wish that were an exaggeration.

These types of experiences explain why Fresh Direct exists (and rocks, though you can’t review the whole milk there). I can count on two middle fingers the number of trips to the grocery store where I walked out not visibly shaken:

1. The supercooled Food Bazaar in Bushwick saved our lives one night when we were homeless with some reasonably priced RONZONI brand pasta
2. Once a Gristede’s in Manhattan mistakenly charged us $7 for a 6-pack of good beer

And that’s pretty much it.

Until yesterday! What I’m about to describe should elicit a "BFD" response from anyone who doesn’t live in the city. And hopefully you will actually say "big fucking deal" instead of turning to your loved one and exclaiming "BFD!" while pointing at the screen like an idiot. Fairway Market (no relation to Iowa’s Fairway) is a vast supermarket that just moved in to Red Hook, an area of Brooklyn most easily accessed by tug. But when you catch word of a good deal on bulk olives, you don’t ask how far, you just get in your car and drive.

Shopping at Fairway included the following ultra-modern conveniences:

• A parking lot
• Shopping carts
• Aisles
• Labels
• Deals

Now I ain’t saying I miss Hy-Vee, and I sure as shit ain’t saying I miss Kroger. But if the crazed looks and on the faces of my fellow shoppers as they struggled to navigate their cart through open space was any indication, there is a huge demand for suburban grocery shopping experiences. I never thought I’d say this, but sprawl is good. For grocery stores, anyway. Collectively, it’s time to say enough! to injuries caused by Key Foods’ "huge, slippery puddle" by the sandwich meats, enough! to the "grody" C-Town, and enough! to the tears and sadness caused by the $5 10-pack of tortillas.

Somehow I forgot to post this when I wrote it up a few weeks back. If you’re not entertained, remember that this is a very lean time of the year for blog posting and the only other options I had were:

• Play by play of Cheeks repeatedly catching and releasing a mouse while I chased them both around with a Tupperware
• Analysis of how much my ass and wrists hurt from all the sitting and typing I have to do

To quote the sage words of Massive Attack, be thankful for what you’ve got.

Tuna BLT, sans L

2 small tuna steaks
A quantity of bacon appropriate for sandwich coverage
Zest and juice from 1/2 lemon
2 teaspoons of olive oil
2 slices swiss cheese
3 slices tomato
1 teaspoon fennel seeds
Salt & pepper to taste
Whole grain mustard

Cook the bacon.

While that’s going down, combine the lemon zest and juice with the olive oil, fennel seeds, salt, and pepper. Pour over tuna steaks, but remember this is not a marinade! Warm a cast iron skillet over medium-high heat and add a small amount of olive oil to the pan (unless you’re one of those non-stick nancies). When the pan is ready, sear the tuna for about 2-3 minutes per side.

While that’s going down, warm up your oven’s broiler. Prepare your sandwich on an oven-safe tray by finding two sturdy slices of your favorite bread and assembling in an open-face manner. Remember the bacon and remember the mustard. Top with tomato and swiss cheese and put under the broiler for no longer than 2-3 minutes or you’ll ruin the whole thing.

Related coverage:

• World’s greatest sandwich invented tonight
• "Best Sandwich Ever" invented late last night