Sunday Dinner

In the Teren household (well, back in the day when all four of us were actually living full-time in the Teren household) Sunday night was one of my favorite nights of the week for one reason (well, I guess two reasons if you counted a new episode of Desperate Housewives at 8:00) and one reason only: Sunday dinner. Our standard Sunday supper included mom's salmon, baked with leeks, lemon slices, butter, and parsley, french green beans or a tossed salad, sauteed zucchini with onions, and some crusty bread and butter. Often times we sat at the kitchen table and entertained each other with scintillating conversation, while other times we sat in front of the TV and watched 60 Minutes, letting Andy Roony entertain us with his very wise words. Either way, Sunday night always meant good food and good company.

This past Sunday night, Jac and I returned once more to the Connolly kitchen to make a decadent dinner. Luckily there was no bickering over what to cook, no precious time wasted looking up various recipes, and no calling our moms 17 times asking for idea suggestions that involve this but not that this time around (well, okay I guess we called Mrs. Connolly once or twice, but that was after we'd already decided what to make and just had some quick questions).

Sunday Night Menu: 
Coq Au Vin - succulent dark meat chicken served in a red wine sauce with onions, carrots, celery, mushrooms, bacon, and thyme
French Onion Soup - topped with toast and melted Gruyere and Parmesan cheeses
Crusty bread for dipping

Yes, a rather wintery meal, but much to my delight Jac suggested the coq au vin (he once worked at a French restaurant and loved the dish, prepared by chef Martin) and naturally we had to add in our favorite soup, French onion, to make the meal complete.

We looked up about 5-7 recipes for our chicken dish, mixing and matching ingredients to our liking (heavy on the mushrooms for me, heavy on the carrots for him) and Jac even creatively veered off course from our researched recipes, using the technique he swore he'd seen Martin use for his wine sauce; while most recipes instructed us to pour a bottle of red wine over the chicken and veggies, allowing it to simmer before putting the whole pot into the oven, Jac made a thicker sauce consisting of wine, butter, and flour, over which he poured the chicken and vegetables just before letting everything bake together for 30 minutes. I, of course, wanted to follow the directions, but he was confident in his method so I set my kitchen-control-freak persona aside, and Jac took the reigns.

Jac and I were the A-team in the kitchen: I made the French onion soup--which Mr. Connolly dubbed the best he'd ever had, thank you very much --and also chopped up all the onions, carrots, celery, mushrooms, and bacon for the coq au vin, while he seasoned and browned the chicken, then assembled, flipped, sauteed, stirred, poured, and everything else.

We timed it perfectly. We cooked it perfectly. We plated it perfectly. If I do say so myself.

Everything was absolutely delicious. The chicken was cooked to perfection: moist and tender, it fell off the bone and was bursting with flavors of onions, thyme and wine, and the vegetables were soft but not mushy (I hate a mushy vegetable). I toasted little toast rounds with melted gruyere and parmesan cheese to float atop the sweet and salty soup, and we soaked up the coq au vin sauce and leftover veggies with a French baguette (obviously, we had to stay with the genre). Although we were sweating from the heat in the kitchen, the heat of our food, and the heat outside, everyone was happy, just a little sweaty.

Sunday Dinner was a great success and Jac and Mads are now three for three. Might have to redo this one once colder weather comes around and it's more season appropriate, or we may instead just keep pushing on and trying new things...I've already started browsing recipes ;)

Kiss the cooks!

take me out to the ball game

Wrigley Field. It's is one of the oldest baseball parks in the United States, coming in second behind the Red Sox's Fenway. But according to many Chicagoans Wrigley is the nicest stadium in the country, blowing wannabees like Fenway Park and Yankee Stadium out of the water. The ivy covered outfield walls, the hand-turned score board, the art deco main entry marquee, and of course the delicious ballpark eats are just a few of the things that make Wrigley Field...Wrigley.

For our big adventure of the weekend, Jac and I bought tickets to visit the home of the Chicago Cubs and watch them face off against the Cincinnati Reds. The game started at noon, so we planned to wake up early to shower and get ready, then stop by the grocery store for sandwiches and drinks, eat and drink on the L down to the game, have further drinks at the game, sing "Take me out to the ball game" in the seventh inning stretch, get a mouth-watering Wrigley Field classic Chicago-style hot dog, perhaps eat some peanuts with or without the shells, hit up a bar in Wrigleyville for one final bevvie, and then hop back on the L in pursuit of the Connolly household, AC, TV, and sleep. 

But everything did not go according to our plan. Our car was gone. Yet, another was available. But with an alternative route. And the grocery store was not on it. Jac's brother Nick and two of our friends Jason and Judson were also planning to go to the game, so the five of us drove to the train station and instead of starting our day off with coffee and sandwiches, chose whiskey and coke zero. A natural substitute.

We made it down to Wrigley about 30 minutes before the game was supposed to start, and sought out a bar to fuel our bodies with burgers, fries, and of course beers. Most of the boys got the $7 burger basket special, but Jac and I held out--we were waiting for Wrigley. We were waiting for stadium food. We were waiting for our dogs.

After about an hour and a half at the game, fully engrossed in watching both the players and the fans, and slowly sipping on a few local Chicago brews, I came to a realization: Jac and I had yet to eat. (Well, minus the 3 bites of leftover pizza before leaving the house and a singular french fry I stole off of Zerden's plate) Skinny Maddie would say "Way to go girlfriend!!" but Hungry Maddie, Healthy Maddie, Fratty Maddie, and Fatty Maddie usually think one thing: "You have to eat or else your metabolism won't start, and you will die." Thus, I announced it was dog time.

Jac knew just where to go. Down two flights of stairs, around the corner, and hang a left, and we entered into what appeared to be a restaurant inside the stadium, complete with chairs, tables, napkins, and more--No ketchup stains for us! I headed straight to the cashier and ordered myself a beef dog, topping it off with sauerkraut and grilled onions, then garnishing with ketchup, mustard and tomatoes myself...and clearly adding fries on the side. Go big or go home. This was supposed to count for breakfast and lunch after all... The dogs were up in a matter of minutes, but they were down in a matter of seconds. So satisfying. So delicious. So necessary. 

"Is my biggurl happy?" 

"Mhmmm.....sreeewww hppee."

the last supper...or brunch rather

Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 6:00 AM

We had everything planned out. Marybeth and I wanted to go out with a bang on our last day in New York City, so we did our research, marked down times, picked out places, and went to bed early so we'd be well-rested and rearing to go the next day. The plan was this: go to the Maroon 5 concert on the Today Show at 5:30 AM, grab coffee along the way, make an appearance on national television, stay till around 10:00, and then walk 3 blocks west to a brunch spot called Nook, where we would bittersweetly enjoy one final feast of quiche lorraine, apple cinnamon pancakes, or scrambled eggs with roasted red peppers and goat cheese, all served with rosemary hash-browns and fresh squeezed orange juice. Oh yeahhh.

We met at Rockefeller Plaza at 5:35 (okay, so we were 5 minutes late...but at that time of morning, with subways running much less frequently, and Thursday night's drinkers stumbling and mumbling home, who wouldn't be a little late?) and quickly found the line for the show. It was 2 and a half blocks long and wrapped around the plaza. Whoooa Nelly. Luckily, Marybeth and I were unaware of the extreme length of the line when we initially entered it, so we hopped in, craned our necks for a view of the end, and happily and excitedly chit-chatted for the next hour until we finally made our way to the concert: across the street, and behind the stage from the concert, actually. A+ spots. Really.

Our plans to get coffee while waiting in line fell through. We foolishly assumed that at least one Starbucks would pop up at some point during our wait (there does happen to be one on every single block in the city--especially in tourist-laden areas like Rockefeller Plaza) but we were wrong. So after standing across the street from the concert and actually behind the stage for 2 hours without any caffeine in our systems, and after listening to a group of middle school kids shout "hello!" or "good morning!" to every single business person rushing to work, and after topping it all off one girl's particularly screechy and out-of-tune rendition of "Misery" by Maroon 5, we were in misery. So we left our first class seats and sought out a Starbucks. Ahhhh... Coffee, comfy seats, and classic tunes from Mumford and Suns streaming in our ears was the perfect remedy for our weary bodies. We returned to the crowd with rejuvenated attitudes, waited another hour for Maroon to finally come on, listened to 2 songs and then gave up. We'd been up since 4:30 AM, so come 9:45 we were hungry, our feet were achy, and we were more than anxious to sink our teeth into something...anything.

When we arrived at Nook with huge smiles on our eager faces at 10:15, we were greeted by chairs turned upside down on the tables, a mop leaning against the bar, and a grouchy Australian man who condescendingly informed me that they would open at eleven--for lunch. But brunch? Brunch was only served on the weekends he scoffed and then waved us away. Stupid Americans. For the umpteenth time that morning, we were forced to alter our plans, so Marybeth and I sought out a diner to nourish our weary souls. Cosmic Diner was just a block away and boasted a slew of breakfast specials--omelets with toast and hash-browns, giant stacks of pancakes, and a variety of egg scrambles--and judging by the large crowd already inhabiting the inside, we figured it was a safe bet. We were right.

Diner Food...yummmmm

Marybeth and I both toasted to our summers in the city with a mimosa, then ordered omelet specials to fill us up until dinnertime. I obviously was drawn to the California omelet, with two of my absolute favorites, mushrooms and avocado, plus swiss cheese, while Marybeth got the Denver omelet, loaded with peppers, onions, and cheddar cheese. I was pleasantly surprised to see that my omelet was actually brimming with both mushrooms and avocado, as the latter ingredient tends to get skimped on frequently because of it's higher price tag, and Marybeth's omelet looked like the perfect ratio of veggies-to-eggs. Wy to go, Cosmic Diner--you know how we like it. Both came with a pile of hash-brown potatoes, mixed with green peppers and onions, and two pieces of wheat toast. We gobbled everything down, barely leaving a crumb on our plates, and barely any room left in our packed tummies. 

I was sad to say goodbye to both New York and Marybeth that morning, but I knew I would be seeing both again in the future--obviously Marybeth sooner than New York seeing as she is from Nashville and we're planning to cook a feast together soon. Luckily though, later that afternoon I was heading for the land of deep-dish pizza and hot dogs with all the fixins; I was Chicago-bound once more. And I was glad to be leaving one big city and heading to yet another. 

a falafel farewell

Tonight is it. It's my last night in the city. My last night to go big before I go home. My last night to drink one last Manhattan while actually in Manhattan. My last night to go to a swanky club, dance to some totally rad beats, and move my body until my brow is glistening and my feet are screaming. It's my night to go out with a bang and have one last delicious dinner to cap off my time here in New York. No, I didn't go crazy, I didn't drink a few Manhattans, nor did I dance to mad beats. But I did kill it with one last dinner. Damn straight.

I can't actually take the credit for finding such a delicious place for such a delicious price on my last night in delicious NYC. But my good old friend Sarah Buchanan can. An expert at finding great eateries and a whiz at seeking out deals in any form or fashion, Sarah knew what to eat and where to get it. She and her fiancé Chris just moved from their teensie apartment in Astoria, to a brownstone apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan and I was determined to get a peek before taking one giant leave of absence. Of course a get-together with Sarah isn't ever complete without some sort of nibbling (or gorging if we're in that kind of mood) so we decided to seek out a falafel spot 20 blocks from her apartment. We walked, talked, and talked some more, and then we ate. It's what we do best!

SoomSoom is a vegetarian bar that was actually voted by New York Magazine in 2010 as the best vegetarian place in New York in the "cheap eats" category. Living the unpaid intern life in one of the most expensive cities in the world, I'm always game for food that is cheap--but if I can get the best food that is cheap, then you've just made me one of the happiest unpaid interns in New York.

Sarah and I got to SoomSoom around 7:15, and were both greeted with a complimentary falafel ball. Immediately I liked this place. The only thing better than cheap is free. We scarfed the falafel down and very quickly decided what to order--with only 8 seats in this tiny establishment, and just 2 of them available, we were determined to make them ours. I stuck to my guns and ordered the falafel sandwich with hummus, but Sarah tried the sabich sandwich, which includes fried eggplant, hard-boiled egg, and boiled potatoes stuffed inside a pita. Both were ready before we the cashier could give us back our correct change, and we hungry gals were chomping at the bit to load our pitas with goodies from the open "salad" bar and get to our seats. Once we sat, the conversation didn't go much past "Mmmmm....orhw meh garwd...srrew grud."

Pros:
1. My dinner cost me $7.00
2. The pita was light, fluffy, and perfectly spongy--plus it was thick enough so it didn't rip. Best pita ever.
3. Self-serve access to the veggie toppings and yogurty sauces on the salad bar
4. The location is about 53 steps away from the 1-2-3 Subway line (at 72nd Street). Talk about convenience!
5. I had fabulous company!

Cons:
1. The pita opening was quite small, not allowing for maximum topping mixage throughout the entire sandwich--veggie toppings were only a first-half-of-the-meal deal
2. Sarah claims that the eggplant, being the main reason she opted for the sabich over the falafel, was very sparse throughout her pita...she only recalls one piece!
3. SoomSoom is in New York City. Therefore I will be unable to return any time soon.

A scrumptious steal, Sarah and I scored with SoomSoom.

*Note to readers: Although this is my last night in New York City, this will not be my last blog post. I have 20 hours remaining before I board the plane to Chicago--HELLO other big city!!--and what do you think I'm gonna do in the meantime? Starve?? Marybeth and I have brunch plans tomorrow. That's what's up.

the Brooklyn Schmorgasburg

It was Saturday morning at 9:30 and I woke up from a solid slumber to my phone buzzing on the bedside table next to my head. Normally I would be irritated by someone texting me on a Saturday before 10:00, however when I looked to see what all the fuss was about, I found a text from Marybeth awaiting me in my inbox. And the message was all good.

"Whatcha up to? We should go to Brooklyn's schmorgasborg! Check it out online- its like a mini food market!" Brooklyn- yes. Market- yes. Food???- yes.That was all I needed to hear. I was in.

I had no any set going-ons on my agenda for this beautiful and slightly scorching Saturday, so I was thrilled when Marybeth informed me of her plans and invited me to accompany her. I had yet to visit Brooklyn and had been hoping to get over there at some point, and this wide open Saturday turned out to be the perfect opportunity.

I met MB and her friend Allison on the L train and we zipped right under the water over to the other side: Brooklyn. When we emerged from the steamy subway, we found ourselves smack-dab in Williamsburg, a part of Brooklyn that reminds me of one of my favorite places in Nashville, Hillsboro Village. But on steroids. A very hip vibe, endless cute and quirky ships, delicious restaurants, and trendy people clad in fedoras and skinny jeans, carrying non-Starbucks coffee and snacking on organic, farm-raised, low-calorie, high-flavor, soy, hand-mixed, brick-oven baked scones--or something like that--were the visions that bombarded my wide eyes, which were luckily hidden by my sunglasses. I was in love. This is my place.

We walked towards the waterfront in the blazing heat and were thankfully greeted with a nice breeze as we landed at the Brooklyn Schmorgasburg, also known as the Brooklyn Food Flea Market. This foodie paradise runs from about 10 in the morning to 5 in the evening, so by the time we arrived at 2:30, the crowds had already pounced, and vendors' selections were dwindling; we marched forward undeterred and filled our bellies with the best of what was left. Heck, I was actually glad to see items crossed out on certain menus--it made my options fewer, and therefore made my selection a bit easier.

Concho's Fish Taco 

The Brooklyn Schmorgasburg hosted many traditional food stands which sold the likes of doughnuts, lobster rolls, tacos, pizzas, ice cream, and hot dogs, however I also spotted vendors selling delicacies like crepes made out of everything-soy, traditional tempeh, sweet kale juice, and my personal least favorite Bon Chovi, an anchovy stand. Those were easily passable. Although I was drooling at the lobster roll from Red Hook Lobster Pound, I couldn't quite stomach the $16 for a sandwich, so I held out for something a little closer to my price range. I crushed a fish taco from Conchos which very much reminded me of my beloved fish tacos from Baja Burrito in Nashville. The taco--at $5 a pop--was made of beer-battered cod on a corn tortilla, served with red cabbage, cilantro, white sauce, and a lime. Delicious, but I think I prefer Baja's 3 fish tacos for $6.25. I tried a bite of Marybeth and Allison's café olé doughnut from Dough, which was the size of a small tire, yet had a light and fluffy cloud-like inside, and a coffee glaze on the top. Oh baby. I decided that my treat would be a milkshake from the Grilled Cheese people but they were already sold out; I turned to ice cream but wasn't really in the mood for cardamom ice cream, as that was all that remained. Thus, I did another round, re-read the menus, and decided on something completely different: a pupusa.

Traditional Bean Pupusa

What on earth is a pupusa (poo-POO-suh) you ask? I didn't know either. A traditional food from El Salvador, pupusas are grilled corn masa patties that look similar to a tortilla, but are hand shaped and also stuffed with various fillings like meats, beans, cheese, or veggies, and accompanied by homemade salsa de tomate, and pickled cabbage called curdito. Yum! I asked the pupusa vendor which to try, and he told me that any of the traditional ones would be my best and most delicious bet. I opted for the bean pupusa, stuffed with both beans and cheese, and accompanied it with "all the fixins." When my pupusa was presented, I was handed a perfectly golden-brown patty with peeks of black and brown beans popping through and oozing out the sides, turning brown and caramelized, and adding a bit of tasty crunch. The bright pink cabbage, plus sour cream, jalapeño peppers, and tomato salsa definitely added a necessary pop of color, brightness, and zip to what I originally thought might be a rather beige snack. After taking pictures of my pupusa (obviously), walking through the windy grounds to find a shady spot to eat, and being shooed away from our original spot by a police officer, I was able to eat my pupusa in peace.


The pupusa was reminiscent of a bean empanada in flavor, but seemed kin to a heavy, cheesy cornbread in its texture. It was crispy on the outside, slightly gooey on the inside, and the cabbage and salsa added both a freshness and a nice contrast in texture to the dish. My pupusa would have tasted even better had it not undergone the endless photo shoot and a long, windy journey to find shade, however I enjoyed it nonetheless, and was glad to have tried something completely new. Not to mention I got probably double the amount of food I received for my one taco, and this only cost me $4! Score.

Of course there were about a zillion other things I wished to have a taste of at the Brooklyn Schmorgasburg, but while my pants were ripping at the seams, my wallet was certainly not. A lose lose situation for me, but a happy camper I remained. I wish I could save up my weeks earnings (wait what??) and head back to the Schmorgasburg this weekend with $16 in my pocket for that divine lobster roll, or $9 for one of those artisan milkshakes, but alas I am leaving the city. Therefore I urge you city dwellers to step out, go across, and venture into Brooklyn for the Food Flea Market. Make your mark, and make the mark I wish I had time to make.

the lap of luxury

Breakfast in bed. It’s the trademark of relaxation and luxury, the ideal mother’s day gift prepared together by your 5 and 7 year-old children (according to Hallmark’s TV commercials), and frankly, something that I think is a little overrated. When was the last time I had breakfast in bed? Never. When was the last time I ever wanted breakfast in bed? Never. Ok, maybe when I was like 7 years old, but that’s basically never. Of course our beds are comfortable, and of course it is often hard to haul your body out of that fluffy cloud of warmth on a cold, dark morning when you’re having super sweet dreams, but I think that staying there and actually eating in your bed is very un-desirable.

breakfast on a tray - classic

Have you ever tried eating—especially drinking—while lying down? It’s a disaster waiting to happen. In order to actually enjoy a sip of coffee, you have to be certain it isn’t steaming hot so as to protect your puckered-out lips from blistering while attempting to slurp the drink into your mouth on a 45 degree angle. Do I want to drink luke-warm coffee? No. 
Do I want to burn myself? Certainly not.

Orange juice is a little easier because temperature isn’t necessarily an issue, however little dribbles are sure to seep out of the corners of your mouth and end up dripping, slowly but surely, down the side of your chin and onto your favorite sleep shirt. Cereal milk, pancake syrup, and little bits of your scrambled eggs are bound to fall off of your eating utensil and onto your body as well. Laundry time.

Needless to say, breakfast in bed isn’t a dream of mine. However this past week while staying in the SW Marriott Country Hill Resort and Spa, I had a breakfast in bed of sorts that suited me just fine.

Because I didn’t actually eat in my bed, but rather on the couch sitting just to the side of it, ordering a delicious breakfast of whatever my heart desires, having it prepared while I shower, and then brought to my room on a tray with a smile (and some semi-awkward small talk) was a fabulous way to begin my day. For the past week, I’ve been in San Antonio at this huge resort for the culmination of my internship with Sherri, the senior event planner for Wolters Kluwer—a tax and accounting company having their mid year sales meeting. I helped to register and direct attendees, made sure everyone knew when and where they needed to be, made everyone feel warm and welcome at all times, and ate and drank very well along the way.

Throughout the week I was fortunate enough to sample to all of the delicious meals that the attendees were treated to each day, but prior to their arrival I mainly noshed on room service’s finest. Day one I chose a breakfast special: fresh berries and yogurt, Special K cereal with milk, a toasted English muffin with peanut butter and jam, a small pot of coffee, a glass of fresh orange juice, and a petite blueberry crumble muffin. Jumping from eating a rice cake with peanut butter on my bed while checking the weather on my laptop to eating continental spread with a couch, a coffee table, and Matt, Al, and Ann was a welcome change.

On day two I decided to order something a that would make me feel more virtuous so I went for the “pastel omelet,” a mainly egg white omelet with fresh herbs folded in and roasted tomato with sea salt, a pot of coffee, a glass of orange juice, and a cup of pineapple, grapes, honeydew, and my beloved cantaloupe. Not bad, my friends.

As for the rest of the days, we employees helped ourselves to the attendees’ breakfast buffet once they’d had their fill and made it into their first class at 8:00, lending us to a variety of pastries, eggs, frittatas, sausage and bacon, jams and jellies, and any other breakfast staple you could imagine—but kicked up a notch. The food was delicious, however my eyes were always bigger than my stomach, and I missed listening to the Today Show instead of the drone of the escalators next to the office.

I thought I hated breakfast in bed. I thought it would be messy, and hard, and uncomfortable. I thought I would spill and make a mess and get irritated real quick. But alas, I found a new way—a more deluxe way if you ask me—to enjoy this luxurious trademark. The service, the comfort of your own room, and although I love to cook, the lack of effort that goes into enjoying a delicious breakfast this way definitely tickled my fancy.

chicarbonara and the chicken fight

I don't feel like I've been doing enough traveling of late. After spending a semester abroad in Barcelona--with trips to Paris, Prague, Milan, and Madrid--then returning to the US and heading straight to Oxford Ohio for Jac's graduation, retiring to Nashville for a tick just to shed some lbs and turn 21, then popping up to New York to spend the summer, and peppering my time there with a week in Florida and a weekend at the Cape, plus anticipating a week in San Antonio with my internship, I've been feeling a little cheated; I need more travel. Therefore, this weekend I decided to jump on a plane and head over to Chicago to stay with Jac and spend some time in the Windy City...well the Windy Suburbs I guess.

Jac and I decided that this weekend was going to be lazy: no dressing up, no big nights out on the town, no fuss; just a lot of watching movies and golf, catching some rays and a nice breeze by the lake, and as is necessary when you have a real, big, fully-equipped kitchen at your disposal, cooking a couple of delicious dinners.

I've said it once, and I'll say it again: he's picky. As we were discussing what we were going to make for dinner on Saturday night, every idea that I tossed out was met with a big fat "NO" from Jac. No to salmon, no to chicken, no to pork tenderloin, no to Mrs. Meador's pasta, no to lasagna. No, no, no, no, no. After calling up both of our mothers for help with dinner ideas and decision making, we finally decided on a type of pasta that is a take-off of one of my favorites, which we call Mrs. Meador's pasta. This dish is a simple mix of sausage, cream, arugula, parmesan, and of course pasta. For our dish however, we substituted the sausage with bacon--because let's be honest, who doesn't love bacon?--added a shallot and some white wine for a little extra sum-sum, and left out the arugula...because the spinach we thought we had in the refrigerator and were going to use as a substitute had since gone bad and was brown and runny. Ew.

The Chicarbonara Pasta (which is the name I have since decided upon because of its similarity to pasta carbonara and because it was created while in Chicago) was a big hit and it was gone in a flash. Leftovers didn't last long, and Mr. Connolly--typically not a pasta lover--even requested that Jac add it to his dinner repertoire for repeat offenses. Yes, we bickered a bit about what to make for dinner, but in the end everyone was happy. Night #1 - success.

Fajitas were on the menu for night #2 and I was planning to remake a recipe I'd used earlier this summer and received high marks from the Teren men; "These might be the best fajitas I've ever had, Mad!" my dad told me. I was certain that the Connolly men would feel the same. Fajitas are easy, fast, delicious, and the perfect opportunity for Jac to show off his grilling expertise...or so I thought. I imagined he would be thrilled at the prospect of impressing me on the grill, however Jac had different plans in mind as far as the preparation of the chicken goes. Jac was 100% convinced that in Mexican restaurants the fajita chicken is cooked on the griddle along with the peppers and onions, therefore giving the chicken more flavor. I, on the other hand, was convinced that the chicken was grilled first, giving it a nice char, and then added to the cooking veggies to meld flavors. We were on opposite sides of the fence, and neither Stubborn Jac nor Stubborn Mad were giving up.

True to form, I gave up. I'm such a kind, giving, and selfless girlfriend that I agreed to prepare the chicken Jac's way. We marinated it using my marinade, but he cut it up into small pieces for the marinating process, we cooked it in the pan like he wanted, and even added extra spices from the McCormick fajita-flavored spice packet like he requested. Things were not going my way.

I'll admit I was skeptical. I'll admit things in the kitchen might have gotten a tad heated. I'll even admit that I voiced my doubt and disgust about the spice packet we'd dumped onto our fajita fillings. But I also have to admit that they were good. Really good. Delicious. The chicken was very flavorful, juicy, and tender, and the veggies were cooked to perfection. Jac threw the tortillas into the oven so they were soft and warm, and also laid out a spread of shredded cheese, fresh guacamole, sour cream, and chunky salsa for fajita toppings. Three bell peppers, 4 chicken breasts, an onion, 1/2 lb. of guacamole, and 8 flour tortillas vanished into thin air. There wasn't a crumb left. High five Jac and Mads. Night #2 - success.

Sure, his way was good--cooking the chicken in the pan with the vegetables--but Jac knows that I do not like to lose a fight. So I did a little research on fajitas. And just so we're all clear on this...

A fajita ( /fəˈhiːtə/; Spanish pronunciation: [faˈxita]) is a term found in both traditional Mexican cuisine and in Tex-Mex cuisine,^[1] commonly referring to any grilled meat served on a flour or corn tortilla.

I win.

And she's two for two, ladies and gents!

the lunch spot

Lunch. It is without a doubt the best part of the work day; it's the one time of day when you get to escape your cube, office, or in my case closet, and venture out into the sunshine to refuel your body. The fresh air, the food, and if you're lucky enough to be close, the friends always put a little more pep in your step to help you finish off the day strong.

As I am living the life of a struggling, poor, unpaid, and trying-to-be-healthy intern, I can't afford to pop on over to my favorite salad place at Chelsea Market, grab a low-cal wrap from Pret a Manger, or treat myself to the baked salmon with roasted veggies at the restaurant next door every day for lunch. I've got to be frugal. Thus, I've turned to brown-bagging it. I pack myself a variety of options for lunch, ranging from rolls of turkey and cheese, to Trader Joe's gazpacho soup, to sugar snap peas or edamame, to fresh fruit from the fruit stand man. There are so many good treats to be had and delicious dinners on which to dine here in NYC, that I find it's better I save my money; have a lame lunch so I can enjoy a fun evening instead.

Since the beginning of my time I've always had a "spot" at which I like to eat my lunch. As a toddler I knew where everyone sat and whose bib went with which child in playschool. In elementary school my friend Sarah and I always insisted sitting opposite each other at the end of our class's table, while Marybeth and Clair switched off sitting next to us each day. In high school my friends and I had what we called "The Lunch Table" which was a specific round table at which our exclusive group of six sat and ate in the dining room every day; we celebrated every member's birthday with decorations, songs, and treats, and shared many a laugh and many a tear at that table as well. True to form, I have found my special lunch spot to which I return each day here in the city. After finally breaking out of the cold, fluorescent office, my lunch spot welcomes me with cute green tables, surprisingly comfortable silver mesh chairs, and plenty of open air and sunshine.

I'm fairly certain that these little eating spots are actually scattered all throughout the city. I know that these same tables and chairs reside at the garden in Union Square and I believe I've seen them in other locations, but I am fortunate enough to have this perfect outside eatery where I can bring my bag of surprises to dine in the shine right next to my office. Talk about conveinence.

Here, I like to dawn my Kim Kardashian shades and watch the world go by without anyone knowing I'm watching them. I can catch a few rays and soak up some extra Vitamin D, or hide under an umbrella in order to escape the heat. On a day like today, when the high temperature is 83, there's a nice breeze running through my hair, and the humidity is nothing close to what I would be experiencing in Nashville right about now, eating lunch at my special spot outside is the perfect way to find a pleasant break in the middle of my day.

sushi sushi sushi

Summer "Spring" Rolls

When people ask me what my favorite food is, I never respond with one definite answer. Because I like so many things, I have a difficult time choosing just one to which I will pledge my allegiance. More often than not however, my favorite selection is narrowed down to two things: peanut butter or sushi.

In Nashville, sushi restaurants have popped up all over the city in the past ten years or so, but RuSans is by far my favorite; I brag about it to my friends at school, have celebrated many a birthday there, and make a point to visit almost every time I go home.

In Oxford, Ohio where I go to school in the middle of nowhere, there aren't so many sushi options. Kroger's sushi is actually pretty tasty, Tonic Bar and Lounge has okay rolls but the fish can be a bit suspect, and the dining halls make some variations of this Japanese delight but I've been a little too weary to stomach one of those. Sushi Nara, which took the place of the old Alexander House, opened in the spring of my sophomore year and is by far the best spot for sushi, pad thai, and of course sake bombs at Miami University.

Clearly I've tried my fair share of these ricey rolls, but I've been looking even more forward to putting some all-star sushi to the test at Haru restaurant in New York City.

Haru is actually a New York City and Boston chain (gasp--my mother would be appalled...and normally so would I at a chain) with seven locations scattered throughout NYC. Since my friends and I had tickets to a comedy show in Times Square on Saturday night, we thought Haru would be the perfect place to grab a bite (or thirty) before our big night out. The restaurant was only three blocks from the comedy club, with the Hershey store smack dab in the middle, and we couldn't have been happier campers.

Kajida Bloody Mary

Of course when out on the town--or out on the city?--with a group of girls, things are bound to get a little silly. We sat down at our table at Haru, took a speedy look at the drink menu, and scooted our off waiter to concoct our cocktails while we mused over the menu. I ordered the Kajida Bloody Mary, made with wasabi, jalapeño, ginger and shichimi...whatever that is, while my friends all ordered the fruity and sweet Berry Kiss. Our cocktails came and went quickly, so naturally we decided it was time for some sake. We ordered a round of sake bombs for the table, which actually ended up lasting us for two, and in the end were given a complimentary round on the house! Guess it pays to be slightly inebriated, acting silly, and chatting too much with your waiter (who doesn't quite understand you).

Although we were drinking a little bit, it certainly didn't hinder my ability to select a suitable sushi dish to satisfy my seafood craving. Sure, I've done the Crunchy Shrimp, California, and Spicy Tuna Rolls time and time again, but to be quite frank, I'm over it. Both RuSans and Sushi Nara come through in the clutch when it comes to originality, and Haru was no different--they didn't disappoint. After looking through the menu for a full ten minutes and finally forcing myself to shut it so I wouldn't continue to befuddle myself over what to order, I selected the Golden Passion Roll and the Summer Spring Roll. I couldn't come this far and only get one thing--this was my big night out.

Golden Passion Roll

The Golden Passion Roll, asparagus, shitake mushrooms, carrots, and avocado, covered in rice and topped with charred white tuna and little yellow fish eggs was mouth watering. Put two of my favorite veggies and one of my favorite kinds of fish in a roll, add some carrot and some avocado, and you've got my number, pal. Golden Passion was both crunchy and creamy; made of the perfect combination of textures and flavors--ideal to eat in the summer. The Summer Spring Roll complimented it very nicely, as it was a lighter roll filled with shrimp and vegetables, and served with a spicy tomato soy sauce. Thus, I had both the spice from the Spring Roll soy sauce, and the creaminess from the avocado in the Golden Passion Roll to balance each other out. When our food arrived, the conversation quickly came to a halt and we gobbled down every last grain of rice on our big white platters.

Since the tempura banana dessert didn't have quite enough chocolate in it to appease Stef and me, we stopped by the Hershey store and bought a bag of Reeces Peanut Butter Cups to satisfy our sweet tooth, and finally each bought two Cosmopolitans at the comedy club--it was required...I guess they think the alcohol will make you laugh more.

Sure, it was a lavish night, but it was completely worth it, and I felt like Carrie Bradshaw living the big life, and enjoying a fabulous night out on the city, drinking Cosmos, and being with my girlfriends.

Amy, Jenna, Erica, Me, Stef

India in my heart

Its no secret that I like to go out to eat. Every time I come home to Nashville from school for a weekend or a break my dad always asks me, "Where are you gonna go first Mad??" I have my tried-and-true establishments that I must stop by while I'm back in the ville, and I have my tried-and-true items that I am sure to order every time I visit. When I'm in a new place, however, I love to venture out into unknown territories; I like to try new tastes, new places, new anything.

I like almost every kind of food. Even if I haven't tried it yet, I'm sure I'll enjoy it. Thai food? Don't think I've ever been to a real Thai restaurant, but I don't doubt I'd lick my plate. Ethiopian food? I hear you don't use utensils and must get down and dirty, but I'm always up for a messy adventure. Luckily, even though there are many varieties of ethnic foods I have yet to devour, I am presently living in New York City, where every single obscure morsel from all over the world can be found and tasted.

Thursday night, Stefanie--my roommate--and I chose Indian food. I tell people that I like Indian food, and I even tell them that I love it, but the truth of the matter is that I have only actually eaten Indian food two maybe three times in my entire life. Of course I had delicious experiences, but I don't think that those few meals necessarily make me an Indian food lover or connoisseur. Therefore, I turned to yelp.com to help navigate my way through the abundance of Indian establishments scattered throughout the city. I narrowed it down to both my neighborhood and my price range, and after reading a number of reviews and finding a place with high stars, I chose Heart of India.

Tandoori Chicken

When we walked into Heart of India at 7:45, the restaurant wasn't hoppin to say the least; there were 4 other tables with people seated at them, out of probably 18 total. Since we'd had a few drinks at the wine bar next door before dinner, Stef, Erica (who is in town for the weekend) and I went into the slightly desolate joint undeterred. We sat down, took a peek at the menu, and immediately befriended our waiter Sabbir. Throughout the rest of the evening, we could be heard singing "Sabbie!" "Sabbilicious!" "Sab dabby doobie!" and the likes in hopes of getting his attention.

Palak Chaat

As for our food, we didn't take anything lightly. Heart of India was offering a special of the day that offered a glass of beer or wine, appetizer, main course, and dessert for $19.99. All three of us drank, appetized, and entreed, and we all shared everything we'd gotten. I ordered the Palak Chaat for my appetizer, which includes fried spinach drizzled with olive oil and drizzled with sweet yogurt sauce, and date tamarind chutney. For my main entree, I ordered the Lamb Rogan Josh, cooked with fried onions, tomatoes, garam masala and chili, and served with plenty of basmati rice, and the best tandoori naan I've ever had. Erica got the classic Tandoori Chicken with onions and Stefanie the Chicken Tiki Masala, served in a tomato and onion cream sauce, and there was barely a bite left to spare of anything by the time we were done. Although our menu included dessert, we had our eyes on a different spot to fulfill our sweet tooth and therefore swindled Sabbir into giving us a second glass of wine in place of our dessert--of course, he couldn't turn down three beautiful "sis"ters as he called us...

dinner spread

Erica's 1st time in the City/ eating Indian

Although I had to be rolled out of Heart of India, I still left in very high spirits and eagerly anticipating the 6 blocks ahead of me in which I would walk off about one bite of my naan bread and empty out just enough to have a crepe at the sweet shop right below our dorm.


In New York there are simply too many places: too many restaurants to try, too many sweets to eat, and too many temptations to throw you off course. Since I'm only here for 2 months, I figure I better take full advantage of it while I can. You only live once, right??

You ever had Cape Cod chips in Cape Cod?

Fourth of July Weekend.

It's the All-American holiday: celebrating our nation's birth and independence, sporting your red, white, and blue, eating All-American fare like hot dogs, hamburgers, potato chips, and cupcakes, and having a few cold ones while you catch some rays by the water. Of course, I take part in each and every one of these aforementioned activities on the Fourth of July, and I've always done so in my hometown of Nashville, Tennessee. 

This means I celebrate our nation's independence at the Whitland Parade, waving at the kids riding by on their bikes and scooters decorated with streamers, and singing along with the Nashville Symphony as they play some of America's greatest patriotic anthems. I eat my annual grilled hot dog with ketchup, mustard, and glee, and grab a diet coke from one of the iced down canoes that are filled with sodas and perched on every street corner. Then it's off to the pool where I go diving for some not-so-cold bevvies in the water, watch the kids scramble for airheads and ringpops in the water, and finally search in vain for a lawn chair so I can get my glaze on and have a 4th of July glow for the party later that evening. We watch fireworks from Love Circle, a spot just up the street from my house where you can get the best view of the Nashville "skyline" and see fireworks going off all around the city. Shortly after, the partying ensues, and then before we know it 4th of July is history.

In the spirit of my theme for the year--doing things differently, making changes, and not just sticking to the same ole, same ole--I ventured to places unknown for the holiday of the summer. Jac's family has a house in Cape Cod, so it was there that I celebrated both our Nation's and Jac's brother Nick's birthdays with his family and a few of our friends...well 10 of them.

There were 13 of us staying at the Connolly's when you include the three girls, Grace, Fran, and Mrs., meaning that Mrs. Conn was providing food for 13 people. For each meal. For three days. And she treated us right. We had appetizers every night before dinner, including chips and salsa, pretzels with mustard sauce, hummus and home-baked pita chips, and my favorite, crackers with pesto-drizzled cheese and cherry tomatoes. At dinner, we ate a variety of grilled proteins such as hamburgers, chicken breasts, italian sausages, and steak. Meals were accompanied with umpteen hundred sides: Cape Cod potato chips ("Have you ever eaten Cape Cod chips in Cape Cod, Mad?" Jac said to me every time); four-cheese macaroni with fontina, bleu, ricotta, and goat cheeses; potatoes roasted with garlic and onion; fresh baked garlic and herb bread; and a variety of delicious mixed salads with nuts, veggies, and avocado--as my mom always says, a salad always tastes so much better when someone else invents it. This was not Mrs. Connolly's first rodeo; in the past the boys have had upwards of 20 friends up to the cape for the 4th, so this year seemed like a "small group."

 

On our last night we celebrated the two births with an American cake: yellow cake with cream cheese frosting, and raspberries and blueberries made an American flag on top for a festive vibe. We sang Happy Birthday to Nick, then sang the national anthem, and raised our glasses to a very fun weekend. Although we all ended up traveling back to our respective homes on the actual 4th of july holiday, the entire weekend felt like 4th of July; the cape was beautiful, the company was awesome, and the food was delicious!

Frogmore Stew

The Teren Family Reunion: We had 15 people. We were made up of 4 separate family units. We were from 4 different states. We were there for 7 days. We had 21 meals. We went on about 150 grocery runs. And we had 7 dinners.

Gram and Pop took the reins on nights #1 and #2, the Osborns had night #3, the Tennessee Terens night #4, New York Terens night #5, and from that point on I wasn't there, people slowly started to thin out, and quite frankly without my presence dinner just wasn't the same so it doesn't matter what went on those final 2 nights.

When cooking for 15 people, you have to think on a grander scale, yet you have to think simple. Gram and Pop did burgers and dogs one night, they served pasta another, and Tina did chicken for her meal. But Mom and I were going for the big WOW with our feast. We wanted to make something different, something fun, and something memorable. We chose Frogmore.

The first time I had Frogmore Stew--which is graced with a name that I think sounds like something amphibious, slightly smelly, and thick n' heavy--was last summer in Charleston, South Carolina.

Now, Charleston is a hot place in the summer; temperatures are almost always in the 90s or above, the air is humid, your body is sticky, and the last thing I would ever dream of eating is some sort of stew. To me stew is a wintery meal; something that cooks for a long period of time either on the stove top or in the oven at a low heat, slowly simmering and cooking the meat so that it's incredibly tender, and melding together the flavors of every spice, vegetable, and protein that constitutes this heavy mixture. Frogmore Stew, however, is no stew of this kind.

This summer stew consists of just a few ingredients: old bay seasoning (and perhaps other spices, however I didn't do that part so I can't be sure), new potatoes, corn on the cob, shrimp, and kielbasa. Then all there is to actually cooking this stew is boiling some water, throwing all the ingredients in a pot, draining them out, and dumping them onto a table covered in newspaper! No real chopping, no day-long process, no oven, no heavy food.

Although Gram was nervous about the table, at least four of the kids were scared of the shrimp, and we made waaaay to much salad to accompany the stew, Mom's and my meal was a huge success. We had fun getting a little dirty pealing the shrimp, getting corn stuck in our teeth, and getting to throw potatoes at each other across the table--just kidding. Clean-up was a sinch, as we just rolled up all the newspaper and threw it in the garbage, then wiped the newsprint off the table, but best of all there were plenty of leftovers for me to scarf down the next day for lunch: add a little corn to some left over salad, and peel a few shrimp to eat on the side? I was in Frogmore Heaven.

beach food

There's just something about beach food.

After a long morning of basking in the sun, soaking up rays, slathering on the spf 30, throwing a frisbee, sitting on the sand, and chillin in the waves, I am always surprisingly wiped. And sometimes there's nothing better than what I think of as "beach food" to put that pep back in your step.

Beach food is different. When you're at the beach there aren't as many rules; often times there aren't any rules at all. At the beach you can have as many chips as you want with lunch, you can steal 3 cookies out of the pantry at snack time, ice-cold sodas on the beach are a must to keep you hydrated, and not having ice cream after dinner is unheard of. When I was a kid, my mom would only let my brother and me have "sugar cereals" when we took our beach vacation to Charleston, South Carolina each summer. I pledged my allegiance Cinnamon Toast Crunch year after year--and this year was no exception--whereas Gus mixed things up, bouncing between Lucky Charms, Count Chocula, or even the occasional Fruit Loop. When you're hot and tired, sweaty and sandy, thirsty and hungry, there's often nothing better than enjoying those special foods you indulge in once a year.

In the morning it's sugar cereal, banana bread, and toast of all flavors and varieties. We've got corn muffins with butter, fruit of every kind, greek yogurt galore, and jam, cream cheese, and peanut butter. There's always orange juice, milk if you're up early and get it before it's gone, and plenty of coffee, coffee, coffee.

At lunch you can grab a giant a bowl of Aunt Col's freshly cut up fruit salad, make a sandwich or toastie with some of Aunt Teen's just-mixed-up tuna salad, eat up a leftover hot dog or hamburger from the night before, or simply put on a tired face, whine just a little bit, and ask mom if she'll "Pleeeease make me a turkey and provolone sandwich with dijon on rye bread??" A perfectly crispy bag of Lays Classic or Cape Cod all natural potato chips on the side, and this hearty lunch is just the ticket to rejuvenate your body and prepare you for the long and tiring afternoon of playing or laying.

Once the sun starts to set, your toes are beginning to get pruny, and you just can't stand to put on any more of that dang greasy sunscreen, you look at the sun and notice it's the best time of day: happy hour. Pop wrote in an e-mail to the parents, "I'll bring a supply of booze (gin, vodka, whiskey, and rum) plus an initial supply of beer and wine, as well as sodas so no one will go thirsty," and let me tell you, no one ever did. Between the hours of 5 and 7:30, drinks were flowin and hors d'oeuvres were goin...fast. We had margarita night with chips and guacamole, gin and tonics with brie and Boursin cheeses, hummus and veggies, plenty of brews for the boys, and wine that kept us going through dinner.

I may have over-indulged myself more than one day in the past five that I was in Florida: I confidently helped myself to seconds, I mandated that everyone eat dessert, I took the liberty of finishing off the crumbs at the bottom of the bag of chips at lunch, and took happy hour just as seriously as my seasoned superiors. And it was worth it. Beach time is vacation time, and on vacation you're supposed to let loose. Take a chill pill. Stop worrying so much about what you eat. And just relax. So that's what I did! And now I've got another whole year until I get to enjoy that super bad, but ohhh so good smorgasbord once more.

fourth grade foodies

Marybeth: 6:00 needs to get her wayyy sooner...so bored!
Maddie: Agreeeeeed. I'm dying. And also had a purposely ho-hum lunch so that tonight would be even better. Haha
Marybeth: Yes I did that too!! Tried to make it small-ish too so I'd be extra ready.
Maddie: Haha same. Small-ish and low calorie-ish. Eek!! We're at least coming down the home stretch!

Marybeth Meador and I have been friends since about 4th grade. I can remember going over to her house at a young age and being one of the happiest kids alive: Cheeto puffs, Milano cookies, all varieties of ice cream, sodas galore, Doritos, hamburger sliders, infinite candy, and chicken in a biscut crackers with cheese were only a few of the delicacies that I was likely to consume while having a sleepover at the Meadors. Not only did we dine deliciously, but Marybeth and I often indulged our creative sides by baking and creating various recipes that we had stumbled upon in American Girl Magazine. Classic. It is in these early years of experimenting with food, flavors, and fun, that I think Marybeth and I first tapped into our now very strong and very prevalent "foodie genes."

Twelve years later, and Marybeth and I still manage to fully and whole-heartedly connect on our particular loves for food. Since we are both spending the summer working in New York City, and since our offices are only about one mile away from one another, we thought it pertinent to get together for happy hour or dinner after work one day--knowing us, we obviously opted for both.

DiFabio Romano Pizza

Throughout the week leading up to this grand event, Marybeth and I sent upwards of 15 Facebook messages back and forth, listing names of restaurants and bars that we'd either passed by, heard about, or simply stumbled upon while searching the Internet; we weren't taking this outing lightly. We two foodies were going to pick two great places, and we were gonna leave both establishments very happy. At our bar of choice, the Blind Tiger Ale House, we couldn't find a seat, and furthermore couldn't read the extensive chalkboard menu of draught beers posted on the wall in the dimly lit establishment, so we instead wandered around Greenwich Village for a bit until we found a spot that suited us. Mercadito Cantina was serving guacamole and margaritas for $5 a pop and we were sold. Marybeth and I sipped on our salty, limey, and very tequila-y margs, demolished the crispy chips and chunky guacamole, and then set out in search of the main event: 900 Degrees.

900 Degrees is a new pizza spot that opened in the West Village in the spring and boasts both a wood fired and a brick oven, making your pizza selection that much more difficult. One could choose from the thin and fresh Neopoletana, the rectangular 2.5 foot long and three-flavors-in-one Romana, the thicker Tomato Pies, the Siciliana style pizza, to the Pizza Americana; just a few options. Through process of elimination Marybeth and I landed on the Romana pizza, and had to choose from 4 variations. We opted for the DiFabio: 1) Prossicuto, Arugula, and Parmigiano, 2) White cream sauce, garlic, Italian meatballs, 3) Gorgonzola, candied pecans, nutella, fresh apples, and honey; all topped with plenty of mozzarella, all set atop a perfectly crispy crust. This pizza includes appetizer, main entree, and dessert on one rectangular pie!

"dessert" portion of pizza

The menu says that this pizza serves 2-5. The menu says that this pizza is two and a half to three feet long. The menu implies that two 21 year-old girls who are not trying to gain 30 pounds in one sitting shouldn't attempt to split this pizza. But Marybeth and I didn't necessarily take much notice of the menu. We dove into this 3 course meal of a pizza in one fell swoop. Of course we went in the proper order at first, starting from the left, and making our way to the right, but by the end, we were mixing and matching and eating each type of pizza willy nilly. I was partial to the gooey, garlicy, savory, and slightly spicy entree segment, whereas Marybeth seemed to pledge allegiance to the sweet, crunchy, and chocolaty dessert portion. Halfway through our meal, our waiter even commented, "Wow, you girls are doing work on that thing!" Embarrassment. In the end, we ate nearly two thirds of the pizza, couldn't fit another bite into our packed-to-the-brim tummies, and still left the restaurant carrying five pieces each--pieces with which we'll reminisce our devilishly delicious dinner the following day at lunch.

Because we didn't even attempt to glimpse the other side of the menu, which offers pastas, salads, and italian desserts, I'm certain I'll have to take a trip back to 900 Degrees soon. Upon handing us our to-go boxes and asking us what the consensus was I said to our waiter, "Well, my boyfriend loves pizza more than he loves me, so I'll have to bring him here soon-- although I'm kind of scared to do so."

Lovely Levain

It was April 18, 2008 and I had just gotten home from school on a dreary, slightly chilly, long day at school. I could have been a good girl and gone straight to my room to hit the books, but since I was a 17 year-old senior in high school, I instead decided to settle down on the couch for a bit and flip to my favorite after-school channel, the Food Network, to see what was cookin. "Throwdown! With Bobby Flay: Chocolate Chip Cookies" flashed onto the screen. After seeing those words, I was hooked for the next 30 minutes straight.

Levain Bakery boasts the best cookies in New York City, and quite frankly in the entire United States. Located at 167 W. 74th Street in the Upper West side, it just so happens to be a 7 minute walk and a 10 minute Subway ride away from where I work. Since I've recently pledged to go on an adventure each day after work, Levain Bakery was high on my list and today was the day to break that three-year-long wait for the best cookie in the US.

I found Levain Bakery tucked into the sidewalk, just to the right of 10th Ave., shaded by a tree, and scattered with cookie-handling people lingering by the bench outside. I descended the stairs and immediately the scent of freshly baked cookies bombarded my nostrils. I was in cookie heaven. Levain has four flavors: chocolate chip walnut, oatmeal raisin, dark chocolate chocolate chip, and dark chocolate peanut butter chip. While the bakery was showcased for their softball-sized chocolate chip walnut cookies on Throwdown! With Bobbie Flay, (and won the challenge for that matter) the peanut butter fanatic in me was yearning for the dark chocolate peanut butter chip cookie as well. Thus, I compromised and opted for the both of them. $8 for two cookies? Sure! When in Rome, right?

Of course I couldn't scarf down two of these half-pound, 4 inch in diameter, and 1.5 inch thick cookies in one sitting, so I dove into the original: chocolate chip walnut. The measly 200 calorie salad and can of diet coke that I had snacked on for lunch were instantly completely validated. Levain's chocolate chip walnut cookie was baked to perfection: perfectly crisp on the outside, and filled with a dense yet fluffy, and deliciously buttery inside. Melty chocolate chips and sweet crunchy walnuts were distributed evenly throughout, and every bite was as good as the last. I tried to take care of my cookie as I walked down 9th Ave, making sure not to waste a crumb, however at one point a fairly large morsel got away; I found myself reaching down to the sidewalk to retrieve it, suddenly realized my foodie faux pas, let out a groan, left it to the birds, and guided every last bite of that cookie straight to my mouth.


At $4 a cookie, you would hope that Levain's cookies are worth it--and let me be the first to tell you, they are. After delightfully devouring that one delicious dessert I felt full and satisfied. Yes, I desperately needed some water--or better yet, a glass of milk--but that cookie could serve as a meal for a slight little gal like me! $4 dinner? You bet your ass I'll be back, Levain.