I’m dying to know other food blog writers! Leave me a comment or ten, I’ll start commenting on your blog, and we’ll become iFriends for life.

Before you make any judgements about me, let me make it clear that I do not in any way condone the use of the number four to replace the word for. However, when I went to buy donutsfordinner.com, I found that someone’s squatting on it and refuses to sell it for less than $1200 due to what they’re calling its “premium nature”. Which is hilarious and stupid.

Unlike normal people, who apparently don’t consider sweets a natural part of every feast, I don’t really consider the savory parts necessary. If ice cream had a little more fiber, I’d be having dessert for every meal. And so I give you donuts4dinner, my excuse to talk about the food I like and eat whatever I want with abandon.

Love,
Katie

I love Tom Colicchio’s food and would travel to the ends of the earth to feast upon it, if necessary, which is lucky, because Colicchio & Sons is basically located there. Is it going to be the sort of place I visit so often that the waiters recognize me? Not a chance, if not for the location, then for the douchebags who eat there. Is it the sort of place I’ll want to visit every time the menu changes? For sure.

I know it’s supposed to be insignificant, but I make a lot of judgements about a restaurant based on its bread basket*, and the super-crunchy breadsticks at one of Tom’s other restaurants, Craftbar, have always been such a crumby, the-least-they-could-do-is-make-them-taste-like-pretzels disappointment to me.

But Colicchio & Sons has rolls! Soft, buttery rolls that glistened under the tungsten bulbs above our table! After pretending like I was just going to have a taste of one and then actually slamming three of them, I was ready for some fungus and bone butter.

gnocchi, chestnuts, bone marrow, black truffle

I had bone marrow for the first time on one of my earliest dates with my adventurously-palated boyfriend at Blue Ribbon Brasserie, and at the time, it freeeeeaked me out; I scooped the tiniest bit of it possible onto my bread and tried my hardest to act like I felt fine about eating the insides of a cow bone. Years later, I was excited to try it again, especially when accompanied by gnocchi, one of my favourite foods in the entire world, and of course, black truffle.

I thought I’d had good gnocchi before, but this was different. I understand now why people talk about the little balls of dough being too dense sometimes; it’s not that heavy gnocchi is bad, but it’s that this light, airy gnocchi seemed to absorb more flavor, to complement rather than overpower the rest of the dish, and was just all-around more pleasant to chew on. The bone marrow melted like butter, the black truffle was so rich and earthy, and the chestnuts were sweet and hardy.

roasted foie gras, lady apples, sassafras root

My boyfriend thought the foie gras had “a nice melt-in-your mouth texture, with a nice thin crispiness to the seared top”. It was more gristle-y than other foie gras he’s had, like it hadn’t been perfectly trimmed, but he still thought it was “a nice hunk”. The sauce was deeply-flavored, sweet, and aromatic, and he thought the apples were a nice complement, but the sassafrass was basically just there for color.

spice-roasted lola duck, cabbage, chanterelles, kumquat chutney

I was really torn between this dish and just about every other red meat dish on the menu. I like duck when it’s done right, but I think it can get really gamey and really tough really fast. But of course Tom wouldn’t do me wrong. The top layer was a breast piece with a crust of spices, and underneath was a roast of even more tender, more flavorful pieces. I liked the sweetness of the kumquat, but the rest of the dish was a throwaway for me. Still, it was worth the price for the duck.

roasted sirloin, salsify, bacon, black garlic

My boyfriend called this rich, deep, and musty and said it had a nice sear but was soft and buttery on the inside. I thought the salsify had the taste and texture of more-flavorful French fries, so I was surprised to read that salsify is known as “oyster plant” because it supposedly tastes like bivalves. Surely there’s no chance I’d actually like eating oysters, right?

coconut cream doughnuts, Meyer lemon marmalade, macadamia nuts, caramel ice cream

No joke–we’re still talking about this dessert almost a month later. The sugar-drenched dough sticks were bursting with coconut cream that glooped out all over the plate when I cut into them. The lemon marmalade was so sour on its own but so complementary to the sweet dough and savory nuts, and I loved its gel texture. The current menu says the marmalade is now being made of the fake-sounding limequat, which gives me a great excuse to go back.

Cinnamon-raisin pain perdu, pinenuts, grapefruit, rosemary ice cream

I basically talked my boyfriend into getting this so I could relieve the last experience I had with Tom’s rosemary ice cream, and it was still the best part of the dish. My boyfriend thought the bread was “a little dense in a bad way”. He found it too hard and didn’t like the way it stuck to the plate, but he did think it was “cinnamony and sweet, like a really good cinnamon roll”. The rosemary and grapefruit surprised him with how complementary they were.

chocolate-covered peanut brittle, red velvet cake

The kitchen sent out these complementary bites to end our meal and also sent us home with carrot cake muffins for the next morning’s breakfast. Which, you know, is the kind of thing that totally steals my heart.

The service was impeccable, of course, and the decor was sleek without being unapproachable. We were disappointed to not see Tom roving around the restaurant, as I’d read other reviews that said he could be seen everywhere from the kitchen to the hostess stand. I’m going to assume that since it was Valentine’s Day, he just didn’t want to distract me from my boyfriend.

*The best bread basket in NYC, in my opinion, are the buttery, salty, herby rolls served at Quality Meats.

Right before I left for Christmas break, my boyfriend and I watched a Food Network show about a company known for its pre-decorated gingerbread houses, and all we could talk about was how badly we wanted to rip the roof off of one of those things and go to town on it with our teeth.

Well, while we were in an-unnamed-discount-store-that’s-taking-over-the-world in December, my best friend, Tracey, and I spotted shelves loaded with gingerbread house kits for only $10 and decided to go for it, not only to make my boyfriend jealous but as an added benefit.

We imagined how hard it’d be to attach the roof to the sides, to keep ourselves from crushing the soft gingerbread underneath the weight of our decorations. What we didn’t find out until we got back to Tracey’s house and took the thing out of the box was that it was preassembled and hard as a rock. But hey, we’re lazy.

Can you imagine how great it is having the job of putting this thing together? Whoever it is obviously doesn’t have to be concerned with neatness, and I fantasize daily about slopping icing onto giant cookies.

The house came packaged with icing mix, hard candy balls, and spearmint leaves. Tracey added the orange slices because we’re gluttons.

Here’s Tracey making a wreath on the front of the house with the bowl of icing beside her. Mixing the icing powder into water was literally the only thing we had to do before we started decorating. You’ll note the giant K on the side of the roof, which I put there, because I’m narcissistic and also uncreative.

The finished product, with Tracey’s Christmas tree in the background to prove that we actually did do this in December and not just last week. Unless Tracey kept her Christmas tree up until March just in case we ever found a gingerbread house kit on super-clearance, which is quite possible.

Beauty shot! You’ll note the fine reindeer-covered fleece blanket Tracey held up as a backdrop for me.

Tracey posed for this picture in which she was pretending to go at the house with a spoon before we figured out that it required a hammer to actually break through any of the gingerbread.

Hard as it was, though, that shit was 4 realz delicious.

This Sunday, February 21st, food bloggers in several cities will be coming together to raise money for Yéle and Share Our Strength to provide help in Haiti.

Here are the details for NYC:

What:
door prizes, drinks, music, giveaways, and most importantly, a meal cooked by some of NYC’s up-and-coming chefs

Where:
NYU’s Department of Nutrition, Food Studies, and Public Health
35 W. 4th Street, 10th floor
New York, NY, 10012

When:
Sunday, February 21st
4 - 7 p.m.

Cost:
a $30 donation ($20 for students)

Check out Food GPS and The Duo Dishes for more information and to buy tickets.

Let me make it clear that I’ve only been eating at gourmet, celebrity-cheffed, critically-beloved restaurants for a couple of years now. Before I met my boyfriend, I enjoyed a lot of macaroni and cheese at home, and the most extravagant restaurant item I allowed myself to splurge on was the $14 guacamole at Rosa Mexicano.

So what I’m saying is–I don’t think I’m better than anyone else, really. But on Saturday night, my boyfriend and I were at Colicchio & Sons enjoying a lavish dinner when the table next to us was seated with douchebags. We were able to immediately recognize them as douchebags by the way two of them sat down, spread their knees about eight feet apart, and put their elbows up on the back of their booth while they surveyed the place. I wasn’t able to see the legs of the third one, and his chair wouldn’t allow him to put his elbows up on its back, but I knew he was a douchebag by association.

The first thing out of the mouth of the one next to me upon looking at the menu was, “Oh, sweetbreads. I love sweetbreads.” First of all, NO. No, you don’t. Nobody loves sweetbreads. They are cow pancreas, and they are not delicious. And second of all, you are a douchebag.

The thing is–I wouldn’t say I dislike sweetbreads. I think they’re interesting. I think it’s interesting that chefs are using them, and I think it’s interesting that we pay money for them, and I think it’s interesting that a really good chef can make them not-gross enough that we don’t feel stupid paying money for them.

But you know that’s not what this guy meant. What he meant was, “I’m trying to impress you by pretending I have some super-advanced palate that picks up the sweet delicate nuances of organ meats.” I hate eating next to people who are there to enjoy their status more than the food.

I know that once you get to a certain price point, the only people who can afford to eat at those restaurants are douchebags. (Except for my boyfriend, who worked hard and got his PhD and deserves what he has.) Everyone else is mostly finance types, you know, who got bachelor’s degrees and got to work making $100k their first year. And I know that a big part of being a douchebag is keeping up with and outdoing your douchebaggy friends. But still.

I expect to feel out of place at almost every restaurant we go to, but these guys looked at us so hard while I took pictures of my food and then passed my camera across the table to my boyfriend so he could take pictures of his for me. And then–AND THEN–

They had the audacity to order the gnocchi. And they pronounced it NO-key. Please do not judge me for being a food blogger and then kill simple Italian pronunciations, thanks. I know how to pronounce orecchiette, too, ya jerks.

When we left the restaurant, I immediately went on a tirade about how much I hate it when fellow diners make me feel stupid about how much I’m enjoying a meal, especially when they’re cultureless a-holes. I said, “I know I’m new money, too, but . . .,” and my boyfriend said, “The worst part is that you’re snobby new money.”

My office ordered two king cakes last week under the guise of needing them for a co-worker’s going-away party but actually because I’ve always wanted to try them. The first king cakes were introduced to the southern U.S. by French and Spanish settlers and were originally associated with Christmas but are now traditional in Mardi Gras celebrations. Which makes sense, considering how indulgent they are.

A southern co-worker recommended Paul’s Pastry Shop as the source for an authentic king cake, and the going-away girl choose a lemon over cream cheese and a chocolate Bavarian. I spent the week before they arrived telling everyone we were going to have cake made of baby, because a tiny plastic doll is stuck into the cake post-baking and is said to provide good luck to whoever finds it in their slice.

When we opened up the cake box, we thought it was a lump of unbaked dough, but it turns out that an undecorated king cake is just sort of ugly. Luckily, bags of icing and sprinkles were provided, along with Mardi Gras beads to use as payment for boob-baring. Or, since my office is full of men, manboob-baring.

Jack dons the provided gloves–a little freaky, right?–and prepares to ice the cake.

Ash goes for decorative swirls, but we figure out later that Jeff’s way of just slopping it on in a straight line makes for better coverage and easier hand-spreading.

Nik, it turns out, has no future in cake-decorating.

The finished product!

Dripping with icing and caked in layers of sprinkles, it was a diabetic’s worst nightmare. The cake itself was mostly a thick, sweet bread with the tiniest layer of lemon preserves or chocolate spread and a layer of cream cheese baked into it, and it was good, but it wasn’t the sort of super-moist cake we usually go for in the U.S.

The best part was the way the icing collected in pools around the edges of the pan and began to harden. Some people acted grossed out when I spooned the extra icing onto slices of the cake, and those people are no longer my friends.

Jack, the cake slicer, isn’t so pleased with the Valentine’s Day decorations that arrived with one of the cakes.

It was clear to Jack in slicing the first cake which piece the baby was in, so of course he took that piece for himself.

After licking the baby clean, Jack threw his away, but

Steve, who found the baby in the second cake, proved to be a doting caregiver.

Happy Fat Tuesday!

In case you’re dying to know the results of my 21 Club survey, here’s a handy little pie chart:

Thanks to those of you who responded, and shame on the 187 of you who looked at the survey but didn’t answer. I’ll assume you were concerned about what I’d do to you if you went for the negative choice.

I love chain pizza. In order of preference, my favorites for years have been Pizza Hut, Papa John’s, Donatos, Uno’s, and then Domino’s. I’m not embarrassed about it, nor do I think it indicates an inferior palate. In fact, my problem with pizza in New York City, which is held up as some sort of bastion of flavor and structure, is that it has neither. The sauce never has any spice*, the crust is always limp, the dough is either too moist or too dry, and the toppings are always sparse.

As a person who loves pizza–I mean really loves pizza–and could probably eat it for every meal every day , I was seriously disappointed when I moved here from Ohio and found that I actually preferred to eat chain pizza and that it’s very hard to find here and almost impossible to get delivered.

Luckily, there’s a Domino’s around the corner from my office, and luckily, all of my co-workers and I were curious about this new recipe they’ve been touting that supposedly includes:

• Buttery, garlic-herb crust
• A robust, spicy sauce
• Real cheese (hmm?)

So we had 20 medium two-toppings pizzas delivered last Friday, and here’s how mine looked:

That’s pepperoni and bacon, which I realize means there was no way this pizza could be bad, but I’m convinced this would have been a delicious pizza even plain. Let’s break it down:

• Buttery, garlic-herb crust? Check. The butter and herbs are actually visible on the crust and are evident in every bite. The crust wasn’t soggy, but it wasn’t so hard you had to rip it apart with your teeth. The garlic was very present, so I didn’t even need any of the dipping sauces it came with to give it a kick.

• Robust, spicy sauce? Definitely. Not spicy as in hot but spicy as in full of spices. And there was plenty of it, too, which is another complaint of mine when it comes to New York pizza.

• Real cheese? I didn’t notice a flavor change, to be honest, but there was definitely a lot more of it, and that’s important to me.

The toppings were abundant, the crust was thick on the end and thinner underneath as it should be, and . . . oh, yeah, did I mention it cost $5.99 for the whole medium pizza because we did the 3-for-$5.99-each deal? Like you’re going to resist that, no matter how you felt about Domino’s before.

I’d still probably list Pizza Hut as my favourite chain pizza, but Domino’s is certainly #2 for me now. If you can get past your elitist feelings about not dining at some local pizzeria that’s been serving the same flavorless crap for 150 years, I think you’ll like it, too. (Although you’ll note that I’m posting this on a Friday, when no one reads blogs, so fewer people will see how non-elitist I am.)

*Except for Two Boots, which was founded by people who love Cajun food and is therefore not normal.

You’ve no doubt seen the Schnitzel & Things food truck on a T-Mobile commercial without even realizing it. And little did you know that your subconscious spotting of it made us thisclose, because the schnitzel truck is one of my favourite lunch spots and one of my favourite things about New York City right now.

The menu is concise: a few kinds of breaded and fried meats, a burger, a sausage, a handful of sides. The line from the truck’s window can be a half-hour long, and it’s not cheap by street food standards–$8 for a sandwich and $10 for a platter with two sides–but the food is huge, comforting, and delicious.

The first time my co-workers and I stopped by the truck for lunch, I got the last pork schnitzel they had, and boy, was I the object of hatred around the office after that. The chicken schnitzel everyone else got was fine and all, but the pork is ten times as flavorful. I chose the chickpea salad and the beets and feta salad for my sides only because they were out of french fries and potato salad (yeah, so I wanted to get two potato-based sides; suck it), but I wasn’t disappointed in the end. The flavor of the feta was overpowered by the beets, but beets really can’t help themselves. Plus, I was just excited to get something even mildly nutritious from a street cart.

There are several condiments for your sandwich or platter that range from the standard ketchup and mustard to the pesto mayo, which I highly recommend.

If you want to get an idea of how big a schnitzel is, here’s my co-worker Anthony holding one up. And he does not have a small head, letmetellyou.

If you’re into burgers, the Schnitz Burger is for you. It’s breaded, fried beef, folks. And while mine was a tad on the dry side, I’m willing to overlook that for the breading and the delicious crunchy-on-the-outside-pillowy-on-the-inside roll it comes on.

Don’t ask me whose fingers those are in my panna cotta. There are usually a couple of dessert choices, but the Tahitian vanilla is the standby. It’s not a blow-your-mind kind of dessert, but it’s light and refreshing, and it’s the sort of palate cleanser a sweets freak like me needs after every meal.

The service from the Schnitzel & Things truck is friendly and familiar, as if they see you every day despite their being parked in different locations around the city throughout the week (which they tweet daily). They even have a call-ahead number (347-772-7341) so you don’t have to brave too much of the cold for your schnitzel fix. But if you choose to stand in line, you’ll feel mighty special, because every single person who passes wonders why they didn’t know about the truck and stops to look at the menu.

Thanks to Midtown Lunch for finding the T-Mobile commercial.

My friend Steve introduced me to the extremely weird and unexplainably funny webcomic F Minus by Tony Carrillo recently, and this one entirely sums up my feelings about seafood:

You don’t even want to know what my last meal would be.

On Friday night, my boyfriend and I had reservations at 21 Club. Despite the fact that their Restaurant Week menu was fairly hum-drum and of course didn’t include their $30 burger–which is really the whole point in going–we decided to give it a shot simply because it’s one of those classic New York City restaurants you always see in programs like “I Love Lucy” and in movies like Rear Window.

You’ll note that both of these examples are from the 50s and should have tipped us off as to what sort of attire would be required of us, yet neither of us thought a thing of it when Kamran donned a pair of perfectly-pressed dark blue jeans. Kamran’s a fashionable guy and is usually seen sporting anything from plain wool trousers to sensibly plaid slacks, so this departure into casual jeans was a welcome one.

As soon as we walked up to the door of 21 Club, I sensed that I didn’t belong. I’ve eaten plenty of expensive meals with Kamran at this point, but I still feel like an Ohio farmgirl, and I think it’s obvious where I come from with everything I say and do and wear. So when the coatcheck guy stopped us a foot inside the door, I wasn’t surprised. When he said Kamran was the reason we had to leave, I was shocked. Kamran asked if there were any exceptions to the no jeans rule, but he wasn’t holding any bribe money when he said it, so we were sent on our way.

Now, I’m all for restaurants that keep riffraff such as myself out for the enjoyment of other, richer patrons, but Kamran was lookin’ fiiiiiiiine that night in a navy-and-orange-checked button-down in honor of his Princeton alma mater and a navy sweater vest that I bought him as an early Valentine’s Day gift. If ever there was reason for exception, I think a navy blue sweater vest is that reason. You?

When I told my best friend, Tracey, the story of our sad restaurant rejection, she said, “Don’t they know who Kamran is?” No, no, they don’t.