A Sarcastic Appetite

Restaurant Round-Up for the Week of June 27
June 30, 2013, 10:45 am
Filed under: Restaurant Round-Up


Hello, friends! I may or may not be working on another A Sarcastic Appetite Dates post…but in the meantime, here’s a round-up of what’s happening in the food world. I canvas the food blogs so you don’t have to. A couple of updates:

Pete Wells gives – GASP – one star to Andrew Carmellini’s Lafayette. In case you’ve been living under a rock, this is the newest resto from the guy behind Locanda Verde and The Dutch, and probably about two stars less than what they were hoping for. The burger is as phenomenal as everyone says. Try going at an off-hour, for a late lunch.

Over on The Bad Deal, Ryan Sutton may have broken the space-time continuum when he created a Mapo Tofu Taco.

Platt gets into ABC Cocina (the place is still mobbed on a regular basis) where the tacos are a little over-wrought and the prices a little high. I’d be lying if I said the drinks didn’t sound delicious.

A better rendition of a small plates place seemes to be Alder, Wylie Dufresne’s second venture after WD-50, according to Serious Eats.

The boys at Immaculate Infatuation are back with another Summer Guide – this time to Killing It. $2.99 gets you a huge rundown of where to eat, drink and hang this summer. My to-do list? The Pines, Rockaway Taco, and Vinegar Hill House. Hey, you gotta start somewhere.

Oh, and if you’re a cut-and-switch kinda guy (or gal), apparently you’re doing it all wrong. It turns out being left handed does have its benefits….

And if you’re in the mood for an over-the-top Pimm’s Cup, try the one at Whitehall (bottom right photo). It’s pretty decadent. And delicious.

A Sarcastic Appetite Dates: Some Nondescript Bar in Times Square
June 13, 2013, 8:00 pm
Filed under: Dating


Clearly, you all care a lot more about my hilariously terrible dates than anything I’m cooking in the kitchen. So here’s another edition of A Sarcastic Appetite Dates. Yes, this actually happened. 

How many dates have I had where I wanted to leave the moment I realized which guy was my date? Too many to count. How many times have I been fooled – no, fooled myself – into thinking that the one attractive online photo of the guy was how he actually looked, and not the 7 other ones where he looked like a distant relative of Chewbacca? Too many to count.

My date with, oh, let’s call him Chadwick was one such example. This was a couple years ago, when I was in the throes of my first real attempt at online dating, and boy was he a doozy. He had once nice photo, which I convinced myself was how he actually looked, and several others that painted a…less attractive picture. But I soldiered on anyway, convinced that he “looked nice.”

I don’t even remember how we started communicating.  Did he “wink” at me? Was that all it took?  Had I set the bar too low for myself? Did I need to rethink this? Did I need to rethink a lot of things? All of it was possible.

At any rate, we exchanged a few emails before agreeing to meet for drinks the week after Thanksgiving. I had mentioned in one missive that I was flying home the following morning – I had written something along the lines of “I can’t get too crazy!”

Well, I would have been in spectacular company, because Chadwick WAS crazy.

He suggested meeting in front of the Heartland Brewery in Midtown, and I reluctantly agreed. I repeat – we had agreed to meet at the Heartland Brewery. In Midtown. A block from Radio City. Three weeks before Christmas. I had to fight my way past overweight tourists walking four abreast (gah) carrying loads of shopping bags from unique New York stores like Aldo (double gah).

I sauntered up to the plaza outside Heartland, where a throng of people was also waiting for their dates. Oh – there’s a cute gentleman standing over the—nope, that’s his wife. Ooh, maybe that guy—nope, he’s with that girl. And all of a sudden this short (er than he said he was online), awkward guy looking hilariously out of place and somewhat terrified turned toward me and I knew instantly: Chadwick.

Fighting the urge to run, I instead walked over and introduced myself, and it became clear that Chadwick was having a meltdown.

“The wait is over an hour,” he moaned. “I don’t know where else to go.”

I knew I was going to have to salvage this situation – but my mind had gone blank. I couldn’t remember where one might go for drinks in the neighborhood because I never went for drinks in the neighborhood. All I could think of was Maggie’s Place, on 47th and Madison, which I hesitantly suggested.

“It’s too far,” Chadwick cried. “I don’t want to have to cross 6th again. There are so many people!” He looked like he was going to pass out. And he had suggested this! If figuring out a plan B for drinks in Midtown a few weeks before Christmas was enough to put this guy in a coma, what about when something really terrible happened?

Is it too late to bail, I wondered. What if I just disappear into the hordes of tourists. Could he catch me? I don’t think he could catch me.

But my politeness won over – it seemed too mean to run away.

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