It might be that I’m a little biased against Padma Lakshmi and her completely untrained palate, but there are some things I don’t want coming out of my reality TV show host’s mouth:

Tom Colicchio, on the other hand, can say whatever he wants.

I was just living my life one day, heading to pick up dinner at Boi to Go–a Vietnamese fast-food-type offshoot of the original Boi just a few blocks away from my boyfriend’s apartment in Midtown–when I saw that the location had closed early. Horrified that I might have to dine on another slice of tasteless pizza, I read the sign more closely and found that an even newer Boi had opened on 3rd Ave. between 44th and 45th. It meant backtracking three whole blocks, but I decided to give it a go.

That was half a year ago, and I’m still loving it just as much as I did that first day. Everyone talks about the banh mi, but the best thing there is the lunch box. I get mine with pork, noodles, sesame-basil sauce, and all of the vegetables. The end result looks like this:

That’s a massive pile of thin rice noodles, lightly coated in sauce and hidden beneath mounds of lettuce, corn, carrots, onions, basil, and . . . okay, actually, that’s from a time when I got the chicken meatballs instead of the pork. The pork is marinated until it’s the color of molasses and then cut into thick, chewy strips, while the chicken meatballs are juicy and meaty rather than bready and dry.

The bowl as a whole is basically impossible to eat. It’s crammed so full of ingredients that you end up dumping half of it on the floor in your attempt to eat it, and it’s clearly not meant to be finished in one sitting, but I always have to. I try to save my favourite ingredients to eat last and end up with a bowl full of pork bits with, like, one noodle to accompany them, but that’s part of the charm.

Also part of the charm is the great service. When I go in after work to pick up a bowl for dinner, the woman working behind the counter always greets me with a smile and a hello, remembers what I like to order, and insists on stamping my buy-so-many-get-one-free card even when she has to wait ten minutes for me to dig it out of my cavernous bag.

I haven’t been able to find the Boi Sandwich menu online, so here’s a scanned version courtesy of my office copier:

Larger version here.

Larger version here.

I love that this place feels a little hipper and a little friendlier than most takeout joints in Midtown. The food is delicious, the value is excellent for the freshness and quantity of ingredients you get, and the service is attentive. The only bad thing about the place, really, is that the counter is a solid piece attached to the wall at both ends so that to get out from behind it, the poor workers have to crawl under it. Strange.

“Variety” is reporting that a new “Top Chef” spinoff called “Just Desserts” is casting this week. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS?

• No more chefs complaining that they “don’t do desserts”.
• No more effing scallops in every. single. appetizer.
• No more chefs choosing to serve a three-course menu without a single dessert in sight because they don’t want to screw it up and get sent home.
• No more Padma saying that everything is too sweet, because you know they’ll actually get some judges who aren’t afraid of contracting the sugarbetes.
• No more chefs coming with one practiced dessert up their sleeves that they continue to serve for every challenge that calls for something sweet.

I could not be more excited.

My best friend sent me a link last night to photos from Boston’s Bunker Hill Community College art gallery exhibit, “Eat the Art”. It’s not quite as exciting as you’d think–nothing here is actually edible–but it did expose me to Alice Abrams, a ceramic artist who deals in my favourite sorts of sugary treats.

Unbalanced Diet 1

I’ll Just Have a Salad

As someone who basically refuses to eat uncooked greens unless they’re the starter before a giant steak, the second photo warms my heart.

I didn’t love the pretzel croissant. It has its own website. People who care about food gush about it. But I was unimpressed.

It was flaky, buttery, light, and bread-flavoured, which are all of the things a croissant should be. So maybe the problem is that I like pretzels much more than I like croissants, and this was no pretzel. There was no thick pretzel skin, no dense pretzel insides, and no salt in sight, let alone the chunks of crystals I want to see.

But it was a good croissant, and I was still finding butter flavor trapped in between my fingers for hours after eating it. Don’t ask why I was licking between my fingers for hours.

My personal blog, Unapologetically Mundane, is basically all about how despite all of the myth surrounding it, New York City is basically super-janky at its core. Or maybe it’s super-extraordinary at its core but has a thick shell of jankiness surrounding it.

Either way, I should be used to incompetence and laziness by now, but I was still surprised to notice that almost everything I buy at the grocery store down the street from my boyfriend’s apartment is entirely mislabeled.

Yep, dairy soda and frozen condensed milk. Although, the fact that I can buy anything for 99¢ in Manhattan is pretty amazing, so I guess I shouldn’t complain.

On one hand, I hope the bacon craze stays alive and kickin’ for years to come. From thick slices in my salads to tiny chunks in my candy bars to the bacon t-shirt, what used to be regarded as fodder for only fatties is now everyone’s favourite food.

Thanks to the recent issue of New York magazine with a cover story about the swine flu that contained this photo

pigs have been on my mind a lot lately. I was raised on a farm full of them, grew up watching my dad castrate them, and took them to the county fair every year with my 4-H club. My boyfriend argues that they’re not cute, but they have the same sort of power over me that puppies and bunnies have over most other people. Their pink skin that sunburns just like ours does . . . the way they smell like babies after you wash them . . . their squeals and snorts . . . it’s all too much for me.

So you can imagine how delighted I am that my boyfriend linked me today to the MSNBC article about teacup pigs, which includes a video, Zimbio has a teacup wikizine that includes this photo

the NY Daily News had this article just today, and a co-worker randomly sent me this photo of Monster Pig (or Hogzilla, which I prefer) a couple of hours ago.

It just warms my little piggie-lovin’ heart. I’m still having bacon for dinner, though.

You know you’re living a charmed life when you and your boyfriend read Serious Eats’ Top Five Fancy-Pants Doughnuts in New York City article, decide on a whim that you’re in the mood for some of those fancy-pants donuts, and head out to Tom Colicchio’s craftbar to get your fix.

You may remember that Kamran took me to craft for Valentine’s Day this year and that it remains to this day the best meal I’ve ever eaten without question. craftbar being the less formal sister to that restaurant, I was prepared for a difference in quality or service along with the difference in price. But no!

We were seated in a corner booth in the very dimly-lit dining room

and given our “breadbasket”, which was comprised of four long, crusty sticks.

I was in the mood for soft, warm rolls, so I reluctantly chewed on the rods with disdain, thought I’ll admit I appreciated the creativity. Luckily, our assortment of charcuterie arrived posthaste accompanied by slices of fluffy bread, and I was sated.

From near to far: Bresaola (beef that has been air-dried for 45 days), Finochietta (pork sausage flavored with fennel), Proscuitto di Parma (the famous dry-cured ham), Cacciatorini (sausage traditionally made with wild boar)

Our waiter told us that the Bresaola is something people either love or hate and that even though it would seem dry to us, we could rest assured that it’s supposed to be that way. It was, naturally, our least-favourite, but maybe only because the others were so good. The sausage with fennel was easily my favourite, but we both really enjoyed how especially silky the Proscuitto was.

I had come prepared to order the pork loin with sweet corn and chanterelle that’s listed on the website, but it turns out that the menu had changed two days prior to our visit. What replaced it was a slab of pork belly over lentils, endive, and a smear of pureed black currants. The waiter acted very excited when I ordered it, and though I kind of just assumed that’s part of his shtick at that moment, I fully believed him once I tasted it.

It. Was. Great. I mean great. My first bite was of the endive, which was cooked down until it became as sweet as fruit. It was so delicious that Kamran and I didn’t even recognize the taste and had to ask the waiter what it was. I said I could pick out some anise in it, and he told me I have a good palate, as that’s part of what it’s cooked in. (You can imagine how happy that made me.) I tasted the black currant next and think I made dreamy gurgling noises without meaning to. Next, I dove into the belly and closed my eyes as the layers of fat melted in my mouth and left behind juicy pulled pork that could have been cooking for hours. I’m wiping away a tear just thinking about it.

The funny thing is that the pork belly was so much like the pork dumpling at Sakagura, which I reviewed here. Both paired the pork with sweet flavors, though Sakagura surrounded theirs in a broth so intense it could’ve been maple syrup. I liked the craftbar version more in the end, but you can’t beat only paying $4.50 for it at Sakagura.

Kamran ordered a really divine “fried” chicken (“fried” because it’s pan fried) with collard greens and pickled watermelon. I’m aware that pan frying is supposed to dry out the meat, but we couldn’t stop talking about how juicy the chicken was. The crust on it was dense with savory flavors, and Kamran thought the collard greens were the perfect accompaniment. The only complaint he had was that he wanted more pickled watermelon; the sprinkling of rind cubes and scallions was just a tease.

The reason we had come, of course, was the ricotta fritters with peaches and buttermilk sorbet. Kamran ordered those and let me choose another dessert, which was like trying to choose a favourite child for me. Do you go with the more challenging olive oil cake with black mission figs, rosemary ice cream, and pine nuts? Or do you go with a deconstructed childhood favourite, the new concord grape granita with peanut butter cookies and whipped cream?

I couldn’t pass up the peanut butter and jelly in the end and went with the granita, though I was concerned about it. I was basically expecting a Sno-Cone with some grape syrup poured over it, but our waiter assured me it was a good choice. And sweet Jesus, it was. The grape flavor was so intense, the icy syrup so thick and rich, and the whipped cream on top was a mile high. I had to dig through it for five minutes before I actually got to the granita. The peanut butter cookies were a little bit too crunchy for my liking, but they were certainly delicious. It was definitely one of the more thoughtful and flavorful desserts I’ve had in the city.

And next to it, sadly, the donuts just didn’t compare. They were light and had a great interior texture thanks to the ricotta, and the summer peaches were lovely, but it didn’t feel like the decadent dessert I expect fritters to. However, the buttermilk ice cream was yummy. It tasted heavily of lemon rind in a way that I wouldn’t expect myself to like, but I kept diving into Kamran’s plate long after he stopped taking my granita. Next time, I could have just a scoop (or three or five) of that for dessert.

I thought I couldn’t exclaim enough about Tom Colicchio before, but this experience only made me respect what he’s doing a hundred times more. Our waiter, Mark (I think), only added to the meal by providing welcoming conversation and tons of information. And the prices really blew us away. Not that it was a cheap meal, but both of our entrees were in the low $20 range, and our desserts were only $10. I hope no one figures out how much these dishes were actually worth before I have a chance to go back and try everything on the menu.

Hooray! It’s the first (known) case of Internet theft involving one of my blogs! One of my photos is currently on the front page of the website for the magazine mental_floss to illustrate an article about brain freeze.

(It was at the top of the page yesterday and this morning but has since been moved down. Hmph.)

At first, I was like, “Photo courtesy of donuts4dinner?! It’s not courtesy of if you steal it!” But after considering it for a millisecond, I’ve decided that I’m actually pleased as punch to see my hand featured on such an interesting website.

You’re lucky I like you, mental_floss.