I’ve already told you how much I like the ubiquitous New York black and white cookies. But look what we found at the grocery store!:

It’s a black and white cookie cake! I was a little worried that it wouldn’t be as delicious as the cookies, because it’s not like I eat cookies because I like dough; I want icing. And lots of it. So the icing-to-bread ratio had me skeptical.

But no! It’s moist, almost sticky with sugar, with a slight lemony flavor. The fact that the bread is so NOT dry made me feel like maybe I could even eat it (gasp!) without the icing at all. But I obviously wouldn’t, especially since the icing was about twice as thick as it is on a regular black and white cookie.

I bought mine at the Amish Market on 45th Street, but I’ll bet they’re available at the other locations, too, and maybe other places in the city? Let me know if you’ve seen ‘em!

The way that I defend chain pizzerias should give you some indication of how much I generally think New York pizza sucks. It’s not the style I mind–I’ve grown to love the huge floppy crust that you fold together so the grease can drip straight into your mouth–but I just find it so entirely flavorless.

Totonno’s is about as New York-y as pizza comes, with an owner who started at the famed Lombardi’s, a location on Coney Island, and a reputation known the world-over. And yet, I find myself somehow craving it. The crust is brick-oven-browned, a little crunchy on the outside to help it maintain its form. But more importantly, the toppings are so mountainous you rarely see the cheese through them.

And one of their available toppings is basil! Heaven. Indeed, Zagat said, “Only God makes better pizza.”

I have to admit that when I tried Totonno’s for the first time a couple of years ago, I thought it was just as bad as other New York pizzas. So either my tastes have matured, or my expectations are sufficiently lowered after five years of living here.

My boyfriend and I had just finished a 3-hour, 9-course meal at Seäsonal. He had ordered a coffee, and I had ordered a Diet Coke, and our food was quietly digesting as we discussed what I should do with my life.

The table next to us, which was approximately six inches from ours in true NYC fashion, had been mostly well-behaved all night. Two of the four people seemed to be dating, and the guy had brought along a British friend who was new to the city, so the girl had brought along a friend for him. One of the girls had graduated from culinary school, but she wasn’t being obnoxious about it. They seemed like not-horrible human beings.

But then two more friends arrived. The girl had a Latina-Jersey accent, and though I originally thought she was dating the guy she came with, she was soon working all of the men at the table. The guy was just generally loud and annoyingly thought it was appropriate for him to go over the success of their dinner’s wine pairings with their waiter. The final decision: not successful.

I could deal with all of that, though. What I couldn’t deal with was the way he then started in on the girls at the table for drinking coffee with their desserts. He chided them for not being as sophisticated as he was with his red wine, and then he added, “But the worst is people who drink Coke at nice restaurants. This isn’t McDonald’s.”

Naturally I took a sip of my drink at that moment and said, “Mmm, this Diet Coke is delicious,” but he didn’t pay any attention.

Welcome to my entirely-KFC-Double-Down-related blog!

No, I’m kidding, but my friend Mike sent me this video of him eating three Double Downs stacked on top of one another, and how could I not share it?

The worst part for me isn’t, as you might expect, the way the chicken parts sort of slop around on top of each other and threaten to shoot that middle Double Down across the room at high speeds to be eaten by their pet bunny. No, it’s the way the second grilled Double Down pulls away from the wrapper, leaving behind all of this glorious Wrapper Cheese, and then he just wads up the paper and tosses it aside. Painful to watch.

I’m in full Double Down crave mode right now. WHY DID YOU HAVE TO CLOSE DOWN, KFC NEAR MY OFFICE?!

So, I just called Becco to confirm my reservation for tomorrow night, and the voice recording that picked up pronounced it BECK-o. Even though pretty much anyone who knows anything about Italian has told me it’s BAYCH-o.

Should I take this as a clue that I’m not going to have the most authentic Italian experience possible tomorrow, despite this being a Lidia Bastianich restaurant?

Also, do I need to start a blog entirely devoted to NYC restaurants with easily-mispronounced names? Why’s everyone always trying to make me look like an idiot?