Author: F C

Good Eats

P– called at 6 PM on Thursday saying that Alton Brown is having a book signing at the Union Square B&N for his new book, I’m Just Here for More Food (link to a competing bookseller). My night was free, so I hopped on the next train there. She doesn’t really get the phenomenon that is Good Eats, but then again, she doesn’t get the Food Network. She only gets it when I explain that he knows how to make cream puffs and granitas. As AB puts it, he’s not a chef, but the world’s grooviest home economics teacher. He really is that good. In additional news, Food Network has renewed Iron Chef America with Brown as the host for another 10 episodes. Of course, I bought a book.

[Alton Brown] [Us]

Go around, come around II

Pei dragged me to the doctor on Saturday. I had a low grade back pain, and there were some kind of unusual bumps on my back. Pei thought the worst. Anyway, 2 out of the 3 turned out to be knots in the muscle fiber caused by too much stress, so I was given some muscle relaxants to help straighten them out. The third one turned out to be a benign lipoma, which should it grow will have to be removed surgically. The muscle relaxant knocked me out for most of Sunday morning, but I stayed at Pei’s house just to be cautious. Not exactly the best way to spend an anniversary, but at least we’re together.

Going Around, Coming Around

Things came together this weekend. My dad finally came home from the hospital on Friday, but he is still quite fragile. P– drove us back in the Zipcar (it’s a good thing that their cars come in different sizes). However, we had a hard time getting him up the brownstone steps.

Saturday, we raided the Stop and Shop for Bounty paper towels (it was $10 for 15 rolls). There was this old Chinese guy that really couldn’t get a clue on the price, and was arguing with the cashier. I ended up paying his 94 cents in tax just so I could go. Also there was this weird woman that was standing in line behind me. She stood just 2 inches from me and creeping me out, and I was holding the old guy’s place in line, so I wanted her to go ahead of me.

Me: Ma’am…. Ma’am….. Ma’am
Her: I’m not your mother, or your sister, or anything, you god damn…
Me: Do you want to go ahead of me?
Her: ?

She shuffles ahead of me.

That night, P– and I celebrated early our 1st anniversary at Essex, where we had first met at a brunch. It had occurred to me that we hadn’t gone back in a long time: we were not disappointed when we came to our senses. The cuisine was, appropriately for the Lower East Side, Jewish influenced Asian/Spanish food. Potato pancakes covered with lox were a great hit as a starter, and the entrees of wasabi salmon with string carrots and roasted duck breasts with mushroom risotto were both winners. P– also got us $10 off using her deal-a-meal deck (I forgot its real name).

Sunday night was Indian night: while I was helping to coach some law students in moot court, she pulled off succulent lamb tandori, curry chicken, and those fried crisp flat bread things made out of beans that I can’t remember the name of. Also there was spiced califlower — hotter than you would think, but delicious.

Of course P– reads this (she actually asked me when I was going to post tonight), and of course she has to know that I love her, especially because she puts up with me. How’s that for a shout-out?