I'm leaving today...

Day one of the trip to NYC started with a subway ride with Tiffany to Union Square. She recommended that I hang out there for a while, as there were shops, a green market, and loads of food options for me. I wandered aimlessly, checking out statues and searching for a breakfast locale that was not a chain I could dine at back home. I gave up and headed to Whole Foods, where I got a bagel and a latte, and started texting Randi, a friend from back home who lives in Brooklyn. She agreed to meet me in Union Square, and I settled in to write. I got one or two good jokes down, and met with Randi outside in the 30 degree weather. She took one look at my almost empty latte and said, "Let's go get you a real coffee." Yay, New Yorkers! We grabbed a cup of joe at Joe Coffee, a hip, fun shop that made me realize that there are sexy baristas everywhere in NYC.

Randi guessed that I wanted to see a few sites on my first day, so we walked to Washington Square, saw a guy setting up a portable piano, meandered past NYU and Cooper Union, stopped at a Vegan bakery and St. Mark's bookstore, then headed towards where I was supposed to meet Tiff for lunch. On the way we passed the Flatiron building, popped into Eataly, a gigantic Mario Batali created fresh food market, and caught up on each others lives. She had to hop a train back to Brooklyn for a going away party, so we planned to meet for dinner that night with Tiffany.

With an hour or so to kill, I parked my near frozen, footsore butt in a Think Coffee House. As I approached the counter, the hipster boy at the register asked what he could get for me. I told him to surprise me. He recommended a Spanish Latte, that combined fair trade espresso with condensed milk and cinnamon. HOW DID HE KNOW ME SO WELL?!?!? More writing, with more contemplation and caffeination to come.

I met Tiff at work and we headed over to a small, hole in the wall Puerto Rican restaurant. We proceeded to stuff ourselves silly on plantains, black beans and rice, and for me-shredded beef. Full to brimming, we parted ways and I decided to then walk towards Tiffany's recommendation for dessert, a little joint called Milk and Cookies. Tiffany had waxed poetic about the fresh cookies and dipped ice cream sandwiches, and though I was full, I wanted to take advantage of my time in NYC. I stepped into the cute shop, which only held two other occupants and the lady at the register. I use the term lady loosely. I approached the counter with a smile on my face, but cranky "lady" was not happy to see me. "What do you want?" she asked, lip curled. "Ummm. Uhh. The Penguin," I stammered, looking at the board and picking one that would be least likely to overwhelm my taste buds or kill me (most had nuts in them.) "Which one?" she asked, as if she did not even know her own menu. "Umm. Uhh. The double chocolate with vanilla. T-t-hanks." She slapped it together, and I took the remaining table to enjoy the treat. The other two people left, and it was just me, alone with Surly Shirley. There was an issue with her coffee machine, and she kept attempting to reach behind her espresso machine to unplug it, but her ample bosom was not allowing her to get her arm far enough back. Said bosom also turned on the milk steamer not once, not twice, but three times in her attempts. Internally, I was laughing at her steamed boobs. Externally, I was annoyed by her litany of curses. So, I took my sandwich and left. I threw it away after a couple of bites, as it didn't taste as good with the bad taste in my mouth from the experience.

I walked down Bleecker Street, as a good friend loves it. Then I walked back towards Tiff's workplace. I parked it in a wine and crepe bar, a glass of Merlot in my hand. My feet were on fire, and my cheeks were frozen. We met up, grabbed some hot chocolate, and then went to dinner at Marble Lane. Tiff has a friend who works at this restaurant, which also has ties with her company. Randi met up with us, and we sat down to a gigantic meal (I got crab cakes and Filet Mignon...and had a glass of Malbec.) Randi headed home, and Tiff and I hopped in a cab that took us to our next destination-Sleep No More NYC. And that will require a blog of it's own.

Vegetarian fail.

I wanted to try to become a vegetarian. I don't know why. The impulse hit me as I was driving through the back roads of Pennsylvania. We were passing farm after farm, and I started contemplating life. What is it that allows us to believe that animals were placed here for our consumption? I also freaked out a little when I read an article stating that hamburger patties were being created in petri dishes. Turkeys were being bred to have larger breast areas and were running around, falling over from the weight in front. My brain exploded, and I started to feel gross every time I put meat in my mouth.

So, I started to research. I asked my friends for advice, and went 100% into the life of a vegetarian. Cold turkey (pun intended.)

It lasted a few days, and a couple of friends called to take me out for a belated birthday dinner. We'd made plans before I left (and changed my eating habits)to go to Outback. We got there. And I caved.

I was also sick all night. My body had been adapting to no meat, and meat made it angry. So I got back on track. Started eating better and starting to cook for myself more often as a result of requiring more iron. I was feeling good.

Then I decided to go audition for a show in Orlando. I was done at 11am, and was told by work to come right to the office. In a panic, thinking I was about to be fired or that there was something wrong at the club, I drove through. And bought chicken tenders. Vegetarian options on the go are hard to find especially when there is little time to get out of the car.

So I failed. I had a tuna melt yesterday. I'm hormonal and needed the comfort food. I resisted the beef stew my mom made last night, and made a salad with fresh veggies and goat cheese. Today, I have an Amy's organic meal, but a turkey sandwich is calling my name. I have a feeling this is going to be harder than I thought. But I'm going to keep trying and if I can at least decrease the amount of meat that I am eating, I will be ok with that. 20 years of a habit is hard to break cold turkey. Mmm. Cold Turkey. Think I may order that for lunch.

After these messages...you'll want to yack.

I was watching Top Chef masters last night before I went out to dinner with my friends and almost died. The food was amazing looking, making my mouth water with every tasting and quick fire challenge. I was hanging on every word of the judges, imagining what the gourmet meals they were masticating would taste like, and hoping that some day soon I would be able to enjoy a sumptuous meal that challenged my taste buds and made me re-evaluate how I view food.

As I'm watching this show, salivating, they went to a commercial break as they normally do. I'm aware that advertisers supply the funds to keep TV stations and specific shows alive. I get it. But, dear Bravo TV, when I am watching a culinary show, the last thing I want to see popping up on my screen is an advertisement for Vagisil Feminine Wash. Seriously. They went from lamb carpaccio with pea and carrot puree to an ad about how women feel not so fresh. Can they not see the issue with this?

It's a common problem with many stations out there. One late night, I was watching a delightful film called "Snoop Dogg's Hood of Horror", and there was a pretty graphic scene where a woman was being beaten in a gang related incident. They went to a commercial break, and it was a band-aid commercial, followed by a tampon advertisement. Can we say inappropriate? Or ironic? Or slightly amusing if it wasn't so weirdly gross.

I wonder to myself and to you, readers, if there is a method to the madness. Is there an advertising intern somewhere cackling evilly, knowing that I will be made to associate gourmet food with feminine odor? Is this some strange marketing ploy ala Berthold Brecht where imagery is connected with opposing forces so that the impression is made?

I don't know, but I may start DVR'ing Top Chef. I can fast forward through the commercials, and not have that connection made in my little brain. I think that's the safest thing to do. And I'll hold out hope that marketing and advertising professionals will gain awareness that where they place commercials matters.

That's life.

I have come up with my personal philosophy on life. It's very "Gump" esque. To me it's not like a box of chocolates. Instead, it's like a toasted whole wheat bagel with cream cheese.

Here's the inspiration to the observation. I am a creature of habit. I pretty much order the same thing at every restaurant I visit. My friends who know me well know exactly what I get at every location and have been known to order for me (in a sweet way, not a Neanderthal, controlling way.) At Duffy's, where we frequently dine, it's "She'll have the saucy tenders with zucchini and sweet potato fries." At Original Pancake House, it's "French crepes and a side of home fries."

At bagel shops, it's a whole wheat bagel toasted with cream cheese. Without fail. I have deviated from this formula before with disastrous results. So, I order my carb feast in wax paper, and I eat. Bite after bite, I luxuriate in the rich creamy cheese, the crisp toasted exterior and the softer interior. And then, it happens. The one bite that, for some reason, tastes like onion. I obviously did not order an onion bagel, yet without fail there is that one bite that has been compromised by an onion, and it makes the entire taste experience from then on tinged with onion flavor.

Life is like that bagel. You can be swimming along, with one intention and then something can come out of the blue, unexpectedly, that changes your perspective. At first, I hated that onion bite, but I realized that if it wasn't for that one bite I would never know what it's like to have an onion bagel instead of my boring old wheat.

I have also tossed around the idea of a "crunchy bit in the McDonald's hamburger" philosophy. But that's just gross.