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.

the high life

It was Monday afternoon and I got off of work around 4:00. I had the entire afternoon and evening to kill before I planned to head to the gym (the NYU gym is grossly crowded every afternoon after everyone gets out of work, so I've taken to going at around 8:30 or 9 to avoid the lines and waits) and I was ready for an adventure. No, I didn't have a companion or a partner in crime, but I wasn't going to waste away any more of my time in this spectacular city just lounging on my bed in my dorm room.

I decided to go visit a bakery claiming to bake the best cookies in New York--I'd seen them on the Food Network's show Throwdown with Bobby Flay years ago and have been wanting to go ever since. As I was making my way to the subway however, a different opportunity fell in my lap. I decided to give Stephanie a call, as I am dying to go see her in her Broadway show and wanted to inquire about how to purchase tickets. As Monday just so happens to be her one day off of the week, she invited me to her Upper East side apartment to enjoy a little wine and cheese. Wine? Cheese? Two of my favorite things? I couldn't turn down that offer.

I hopped on the Subway and finally got to Steph's at around 5:00. I took a tour of their gorgeous new apartment and we chatted inside for a bit while we waited for the sun to set a little bit. Then around 6 we gathered our materials: smoked gouda cheese, some sort of soft white jalapeño cheese, a divinely creamy number that had a flavor that flirted with brie, fig preserves, some hearty stoneground crackers to put it all on, a cut up apple, some juicy red grapes, and Kendall Jackson Chardonnay. It was quite the spread.

Steph and I managed to lug all of the goods up to her rooftop terrace and spent the next two and a half hours talking, eating, and drinking to our heart's content. We watched the New York sunset as it fell below the skyline and melted into the Hudson River and I almost couldn't believe where I was. Being up there on that terrace, being able to peek into other people's apartments to see what they're doing, and being able to realize how I'm such a small part of such a big thing was kind of mind-boggling.

Finally, after plenty of drink, food, and lots of chatting, Stephanie and I went our separate ways...and I headed to the gym. After eating about a half a pound of cheese...it was necessary. It was a perfect surprise Monday evening in New York...and now we're trying to and make a weekly event of it.

It really is BIG...

...the Apple, that is. The city, that is.

Now, I thought that Barcelona was a big city...but New York is a whole new ball game. This city has about a million different villages, sides, boroughs, hills, and Ho's; it boasts cuisine from Italy, China, Japan, India, Brasil, America (duh), and other countries and genres I've never even heard of; a subway ride to go visit a fond friend on the other side of town can last you anywhere from 30-45 minutes; and coffee can range from a $0.95 iced coffee off a street vendor to $6.75 for your Venti Skinny Mocha Caramel Cappuccino Macchiato.

With so much to see, so many things to do, and so little time, I've had much less opportunity for writing. Now my day is filled with work, working out, friends, and FUN. Heavy on the fun. Whereas last week I was able to find some time here and there to write, this week I made a change in my schedule that has impaired me from writing as much as I might like. I see my computer sitting there on my bed, calling to me and asking for me to return to the blog, but at the same time 450 quaint coffee shops, 10,846 raved-about restaurants, 325 tempting touristy sites, and about 25 fantastic friends are calling my name instead.

Last week, each day after work I would stop at Trader Joe's or Walgreens on my way home, gradually acquiring all of the necessities I'd forgotten at home or had yet to purchase, and then come and lounge on my bed and get on Facebook, Twitter, and all of the other mindless websites that turn my brain to mush--before hitting the gym later. This weekend, however, when I was exploring Midtown, Uptown and Central Park with Al, stalking Marybeth's Facebook filled with photos of avdenture, and looking through my calendar at the dwindling weekends I already have here, I finally realized how my time is limited. And I've got to live it up.

Thus, I made a change in my routine. No more going home after work. No more lounging in my bed before the gym. No more unnecessary shopping after work. It's time to hit the streets, hit the subway, and hit up all of those hot spots I've been wanting to try; time to mark things off my bucket list, spend time with friends, and eat up everything that New York City has to offer.

It's been a little crazier, but it's been a lot more fun. I've had a few fantastic evenings already, a few more in the works, and this Big Girl is really starting to love the Big City.

city livin

Unfamiliar sounds and delightful smells. That's what I noticed most on my first day in the city. Sounds of constantly beeping taxi cabs and subways rushing into the station, sounds of silence in the office, sounds of various accents from hither and yon, and sounds of people being herded like sheep into checkout lines at Trader Joe's; smells of street vendors' hot dogs, falafel, and chicken n' rice plates, smells of freshly brewed coffee wafting out of each little coffee shop, the delicious smell of pastries baking in the oven, and the stench of the girl's BO next to me on the treadmill at the gym. My senses were on overdrive. I listened, I looked, I smelled, and I tried not to touch too much...New York isn't notorious for being the cleanest city in the world.

My roommate's alarm went off at 7:30, and I dozed for another half hour until mine rang me awake at 8:00 with the same three toned, six beep, awfully obnoxious, Blackberry alarm sound. The perfect sound to start any day.

I ventured out to go obtain my NYU ID card and upon arriving at location, the security guard told me, "Nope, 'at was yessaday. Ya gotta go da tree eighty tree Lafayette. Ya just go straight up fort avenue." Contrary to how I would normally react, I wasn't even perturbed because I was too overwhelmed and delighted by his delicious Nahthun accent.

I finally got my ID, took a stunning picture in which I look as if I've just finally crawled out of my bed, which is in the middle of the Sahara Dessert, and stopped to grab an iced coffee from a street vendor. "No, take ya time miss. Deh's neva any rush miss. Tank you, have a great day miss." My iced coffee, with no sugar and just a splash of milk, tasted even more caffeinated knowing I'd bought it right off the street from such a sweetly accented man.

When I got to work, I didn't hear much of anything. The office is very quiet, filled with cubes and diligent workers, and not much chatter goes on. Sherri and I, on the other hand, are much less so and listen to XM country radio during the day--I was thrilled to hear the sounds of Ladies Love Country Boys, a song my dear ole dad wrote, to come on the air around 11:30 in the morning.

At 1:00 I ventured across the street to Chelsea Market to find some lunch. I made a quick choice and stopped in a little sandwich and salad shop, where I ordered a salad and picked every single topping my fluttering heart could desire before the man tossed it in balsamic vinegar and olive oil. After I devoured my lunch, I took a walk through the rest of the market where I smelled and spotted so much delectable looking food, I thought my eyes were going to pop out of my head. Cheese shops, fruit stores, fish markets, bakeries, and more--I'll never get tired of lunch at Chelsea Market.

After work, I changed my clothes and headed over to the NYU gym in order to finally get a workout in. Wrong. The sounds of treadmills, ellipticals, stairmasters, and bicycles was so loud I couldn't hear myself think; in this teeny tiny room where about 50 cardio machines were squished together, every machine was taken except for one recumbent bike. I snagged it as fast as I could, but could barely listen to my music because of the sounds of fury and the gobs of steam exuding from my ears.

Minus that one minor disappointment, my day was a success: new sounds, new tastes, new smells, new flavors. I have less than 2 months here in the Big Apple, so now it's just a matter of picking out what sounds and smells best. I've gotta try New York!

round two

I'm back. After taking a month's hiatus from blogging about my Spanish life, I have returned. I've returned to the keyboard, I've returned to the blogspot website, and I've returned to the challenge and delight of telling stories about my different daily life. Yes, I have returned, but I have returned a changed lady; instead of regaling my audience with stories of Spanish splendor, this blog will be dedicated to everything American--because now, I'm in New York City.

Although I spent a month in Nashville in between my two big cities, Barcelona and New York, and although I could have kept blogging, writing, composing, and telling said stories, I couldn't find much importance in describing each detail about my super-sweaty hot yoga class, grueling 90 minute workout at the Y, delightful southwestern style salad I masterfully created for lunch, or the trashy TV show I watched on Bravo after dinner--those are the things with which I filled my days.

Now, however, I have made my second big leap of 2011. I've left my Nashville Nest and embarked on adventure #2 in big city #2: the city, the big city, the big apple: New York!

My internship is unpaid. My allowance is limited. My savings are dwindling. Spain sucked it out of me. I couldn't be happier to be here, in the city, and doing something different and exciting with my summer--rather than screaming at little children flapping their arms and legs in the water, pretending to swim the breaststroke to no avail--but I'm also a little nervous. Will I be able to manage the subway system here?--the one that I hear is so difficult to master? Will I be able to find my way around and thoroughly explore each and every different neighborhood to my satisfaction? Will I sink my teeth into everything delicious that there is to find in New York without being ripped off time and time again at distasteful posers? Will I find the best hot dog, the best pizza, the best cannoli, the best pastry, the best cupcake, or the best taco? Will I drink the tastiest margarita, mojito, or manhattan and find it for a fairly low price? Will I leave here feeling at all like a New Yorker?

Only time will tell. And I will tell it all here as my time in the city goes on.