At the same old-timey German deli where Dr. Boyfriend and I found the fish balls, we also found the sweetest little marzipan pig:

The two of them were fast friends and couldn’t be separated for approximately three hours. And then we bit his head off.

Wikipedia claims that marzipan is from Iran, but my Persian boyfriend had never tasted it. I myself have only had it a few times in my life, because I don’t really understand it. I mean, almond flavor is fine and everything, but I’m American, and I demand that all of my desserts involve chocolate and peanut butter.

One Saturday a few weeks ago, I was invited to Gina Minichino’s gallery opening on the Upper East Side by a completely random stranger. I would’ve been happy to attend no matter what but had no choice in the matter when I found out that the subject of her paintings is JUNK FOOD.

And I would’ve been happy to attend no matter what but was especially glad that I did when Dr. Boyfriend and I arrived at the Allan Stone Gallery and found out that her stuff is really good. Like, the so-real-they-look-like-photos type of good that you know you could never do yourself. For example:

She sold this while we were there. Whoo!

Peter Anton was sharing the space with her and was just as exciting. We started with his stuff and worked our way back to Gina’s, so I ended up getting exponentially more photos of his pieces before the place closed for the evening. (Sorry, Gina!)

Kamran and I truly believe we’re the only people in the world who love circus peanuts.
This alone has kept us. together for 2+ years.

Butt cherry!

I would totally have eaten this right off the floor had it been real.

So, yeah, the show is definitely worth seeing, as if you couldn’t tell from the photos. And luckily for you, it runs for another month still.

Allan Stone Gallery
113 East 90th Street
New York, NY 10128
Through June 19th

If I was to tell you there’s a sandwich shop on 14th Street called Thai Me Up, which of the following would you think?:

1) Heeeeeeeeeee.
2) Laaaaaaaaaame.
3) Grooooooooooss.
4) A combination of 2 and 3.

I appreciate a good pun as much as you do, but what if I told you the store is owned by this guy and his hair?:

And what if I told you that the ingredients in one of the dessert drinks is magic?

And what if I told you the website says, “Thai Me Up Sandwich Bar opened in march of 2007 to rave reviews from visitors loving its delicious dishes and fun, sexy concept”? That’s right. Fun, sexy sandwiches.

I haven’t actually stopped at Thai Me Up yet, but in light of this, I really can’t wait to go have an extra-firm-tofu-induced orgasm.

While riding the bus down 2nd Ave. a couple of weekends ago, I forced Dr. Boyfriend out the back door and into a shop called Schaller & Weber, thinking it was a cheese store. Because its sign is yellow and red, which everyone knows are the universal colors of cheese. But no, it turned out to be a totally famous and ancient meat shop that we later saw profiled on this Anthony Bourdain special about disappearing Manhattan culture (about two minutes and 45 seconds in).

One wall of the store was taken up by a display case of various sausages and terrines, the other wall was a refrigerated case of smoked whole fishes and cod roe, and the single section of shelves that filled the entire middle of the tiny room was stacked with foreign chocolates. Which is even better than cured meats, obviously. But there was one little shelf hidden around a corner in the back that contained this:

And the question is: how much would I have to pay you to eat fish balls in their own bouillon?

As someone who desperately, desperately loves carbs, I’ve been known to crave bowls made of bread in the past. Only as someone who doesn’t necessarily consider soup a real food–even the super-creamy ones aren’t solid enough for me until they’re laden with an entire sleeve of saltine crackers–I don’t necessarily go for the requisite broccoli cheddar soup in a breadbowl that everyone wants to serve me. In fact, one of my finest weird-look-getting exploits of recent history involved me asking a cashier at Panera if she could fill my bowl o’ bread with chicken salad instead, while my best friend lovingly took photos.

So the dawn of Domino’s Breadbowl Pastas should incite a fiery joyful hunger deep inside me:

What could be better than refined white flour macaroni and cheese BAKED INTO a bowl ALSO MADE OF refined white flour? I’ll tell you what: following it up with some breadsticks covered in sugar!

Even a carbfreak like me gets physically ill watching the commercials where people rip off sections of their bowl and dip it into their pasta sauce. I’m the same person who was so disappointed to move to New York City and find out that all of the pizza crust here is floppy and thin instead of thick and bready like it is back home, but the portion of the ad where they show the ring of dough expanding 400% in the oven just seems ridiculous.

Appropriately, the nutrition information for the bowls seems to be suspiciously missing from the Domino’s website.