Posts from the ‘Chains of Love’ Category

Jun 20

I’m With the Band

Ignoring T.G.I. Friday’s late-to-the-game attempts at small plates, Subway has introduced a new overstuffed behemoth (I can’t find any reference to this on their lame website or on the blogosphere—perhaps I imagined it?). Surely, to compete with Quizno’s girthier sandwiches. Sorry Jared. The commercial that I’ve only seen once initially caught my attention because I’m a sucker for chain food gimmicks, then I became fascinated by one of the eaters, a ~~office lady~~ woman dressed to look younger than she is. Office ladies eat Lean Cuisine, salads and microwave popcorn, not bulging hoagies. But I do appreciate the attempt to include the fairer sex in their marketing ploy.

Another weird ladylike eating habit presented itself to me on Sunday. I was scoping out the now slightly famous Red Hook ball fields. I hadn’t been this year, and wow, it has practically been taken over by South Brooklyn post-college, just barely pre-stroller/SUV set. Live and let live, but I couldn’t ignore the female members of these crews and their approach to a food-centric gathering.

There were a number of groups scattered around the hot grass and precious few shady tables, and they tended to be made up of two or three guys with one girl. The young men were all chowing down on sasquatch-sized huaraches or greasy pupusas while their accompanying gal pal remained empty handed. Ok, a few had agua frescas and one of the dudes tried scoring a Diet Coke for his little lady but the damn Mexicans only had full sugar versions.

So, that’s how you spend your Sunday? Sipping lemonade and watching a bunch of men eat? I don’t get the point. Maybe it’s the 2007 equivalent of being subjected to band practice, a ritual no self-respecting woman over 24 should engage in.

Hmm, I was just skimming through my feeds and couldn’t help but notice this post from a Food & Wine editorial assistant (#4 of Five Bites Outside of Aspen). It looks like the girl managed to at least choke down half a quesadilla. We must’ve been on different days.

I, too, had a quesadilla on Sunday. And yeah, they’re unnecessarily large (though I handled a whole one no problem). I’d never had a Red Hook version before and was hoping they’d be compact and cheesey like the one I recently had in Mexico City. The Brooklyn ones aren’t really like quesadillas at all since they put tons of stuff in them like lettuce, onions and they don’t stay stuck in a half moon shape because the cheese is only melted to the tortilla and there’s not enough of it. The insides need to be gooey and you really only need one simple filling.

Jeez, I had no idea I was such a street food snob. I’d remedy this with a Subway sandwich taste test, if I could only remember the name of their new supersized product.

Photo from the New York Times article, "The Boys in the Band Are in AARP"

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May 21

$3.49 Lofthouse

I very rarely shop at Stop & Shop, mostly because there aren’t that many around. But yesterday I was on Northern Boulevard sampling Colombian hamburgers (and ultimately ended up seeing 28 Weeks Later a few blocks over in Astoria—I’m still not clear where the Long Island City border is. I'm also not clear why ESLs go to English language movies if they have to have every other word explained to them aloud. And if inanity like "What's a pub?" is going to occur, why does it have to be conducted half an inch from me?) and for boring reasons I ended up at two Stop & Shops (L.I.C. and Maspeth).

I do enjoy their spacious aisles and near approximation of suburban shopping. Plus, they’re never crowded (they tend to be a little overpriced unless you get one of those loyalty cards, which apply to practically everything). But the biggest draw besides the bottle and can recycling machine is their brightly colored sprinkle-topped sugar cookies that tend to have seasonal themes.

I thought they were a house brand, but they’re made by a company called Lofthouse (their website appears to be in limbo). I’ve never been crazy about store bought cookies (or canned soup) because they always seem lacking. But these thick icing-heavy examples are an exception. They’re not special, more like something someone would bring to grade school for a birthday (except that now everyone has allergies or is obese or organic-only and treats are outlawed). There’s a floury, slightly baking soda-ish quality to them, crumbly and chewy at the same time, and I swear to god, toothsome would be an apt description but I’m not using that word anymore.

It seems that I’m not alone in my fondness for these sweets, though chatter on Yahoo! Answers isn’t really indicative of anything. Heck, people also devote time posting “Which major chain restaurant has sourdough bread that is cut in 4?” and “At taco bell they serve a pinto bean and cheese thing and I would love to make it with dinner tonight.?”

I won’t question why red, white and blue is featured in May. I suppose patriotism can be celebrated year-round. In fact, there was a mom shopping with two youngish boys, and one was dressed head to toe in camo, so who’s to say?

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May 2

Beefing up the Selection

It’s just a grocery store but I’ve always had a thing for Western Beef, at least the Ridgewood headquarters. It’s not remotely fancy, I can’t get my Kashi bars or Fage yogurt, just Quaker and Danon, but it’s certainly a notch above Associated or C-Town (Friday the NY Post had a funny full page ad where C-Town price compared a pile of around 25 Krasdale items to the name brands and showed how you’d save like $75).

I was excited this past weekend to see that WB has revamped/reorganized its “ethnic” offerings, which consists of a bounty of Latin American and Caribbean brands with a few Eastern European items tossed in. You’re shit out of luck if need anything Asian besides Kikkoman or Roland duck sauce (in humungous jars). I don’t know that they increased their offerings but they’ve tidied up the shelves, erected mini flags from countries of origin and put signs out front advertising their diverse products. I thought they might’ve actually alphabetized since Argentina was first, but then Peru snuck in near the start of the aisle and all rhyme or reason went out the window.

They also tidied up an entire row devoted the only other foodstuff in existence (besides melon) that I can't abide. Malta is an acquired taste that I just can't acquire.

I couldn’t resist this little Colombian box of Triguisar. I'm sure it is seasoning, though the translation reads "economic dehydrated mixed condiments" that consist of cumin, pepper, garlic, annatto, something they translate as curcuma (ah, turmeric), yellow dye, corn starch and corn rice. I’m not convinced of its tastiness but like the straightforward directions, “it should be cooked with the foods.”

Not only was the Western Beef so bizarrely empty that I could wheel the cart around unimpeded, the same non-crowdedness occurred at Target the same Saturday afternoon. We got a parking spot next to the door instead of having to drive in circles and there were actually shopping carts instead of the usual empty patch of dirty carpet where they’re supposed to be. It kind of freaked me out. Plus, instead of the normal reggaeton blasting at WB interspersed with an angry employee yelling for his keys, soft jazz was lilting from the speakers. New management or something more malevolent?

More: western beef

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Apr 1

Getting Your Jollies

Joelstein Joel Stein is like a less wry Mo Rocca (I can’t help but mention at any mildly opportune moment that he sat directly in front of me en route to Chicago in February) laced with a touch of good ol’ fashioned Dave Berry. In a word, douchie. And apparently Time magazine has deemed him fit to write a food column. I hate voices of my supposed generation on any topic…but food? Really? It’s much better when they stick to two-liners on I Love the ‘80s.

Foreign fast food chains are a topic near and dear to my heart so I couldn’t help but peek at his first foray into culinary commentary, "The Hungry American." Uh, and maybe I’m misinterpreting his interpretation, but he seems to be of the mind that chains set up in America to try to appeal to us and get it all wrong. That might be the case if he were talking about Pret a Manger overdosing the U.S. with mayonnaise. Yet the examples he cites are California-centric, for one, but inaccurate since they are primarily restaurants catering to expatriates.

Minus the Jollibee burgers, this isn’t really “foreign American food.” I don’t think this Filipino chain is trying to entice the general public with gusto, and if they are then spaghetti topped with ketchup and sliced wieners is a charming yet off kilter business plan. I don’t know that the businesses in his commentary are trying to resell our culture back to us as much as that they’ve interpreted fast food for local audiences and are reaching out to immigrants who’ve settled in the U.S.

I don’t think Guatemalan Pollo Campero, at least in NYC, had made an effort to attract non-Central American customers. In fact, the one in Sunset Park went out of business for that very reason, the neighborhood was more Mexican and Puerto Rican and didn’t identify with the brand. Practically all cultures like fried chicken, we don’t own the concept.

And for Stein to posit that Beard Papa is interpreting donuts for Americans is insane. They’re not mimicking our fried dough, they’re making cream puffs. Japanese (and Asians in general) love French shit. I had great pastry in Hong Kong and Singapore.

And his conclusion is frighteningly self-revealing: “To them, it seems, we're a happy, efficient, fun bunch of guys, even if we act like total jerks when it suits us. They've figured it out: we're frat boys. And we like to eat like them.” Yikes. I wonder how those crazy Filipinos might re-create the beer bong, don’t you? And Nicaraguan jello shots? Just a matter of time.

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Mar 30

Tidbits: Bauhaus and Mayonnaise

1. Bauhaus in Starbucks is wrong. I could deal the other morning when my favorite New Order song “Age of Consent” was playing (it already got tainted in the Marie Antoinette trailer, anyway) but “All We Ever Wanted Was Everything” is wrong anywhere, but particularly at 10am in the Financial District in a coffee chain.

In the mid-‘90s I found a bunch of old dubbed from vinyl cassettes, including a few Bauhaus ones. I tried playing them while driving and it was intolerable, like really nuts and dramatic. In a way, Destroyer is a contemporary non-Goth version of this super theatrical style, and I can listen to it (maybe not driving, though).

2. Remind me to not go to Pret a Manger again. I’ve only gone twice in the past month but I keep forgetting that the not terribly filling sandwiches ring in at $7 on the dot with tax and are overly mayonnaisey (I’m not the first to note this overabundance). I end up hungry in a few hours, grossed out even after wiping excess mayo off with a napkin and annoyed that I’ve used way more than my allotted afternoon calories. Sad. I could deal with the heavy handed condiment application if the price was even a dollar cheaper because they do have interesting flavors. But after looking up the nutritional info on my cranberry, walnut, mesclun and brie version, I almost crapped myself. I might as well have eaten a Wendy’s value menu cheeseburger and saved fat and money. Um, except I don’t think they have Wendy’s down here.

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Mar 21

Fourth Dimension

I’m a sucker for advergames (I just learned that jargon at work and thought I’d toss it around). In the early millennium I was sucked in by White Castle’s Craveology campaign (scroll to 9/25/00), which prompted me to collect nearly all 12 pseudo-zodiac plastic cups and I went as far as getting James a birthday ice cream cake adorned with a picture of Cravies, the fry-beared ram (which I thought I had a photo of but I guess this was pre-digital camera days).

Last night while watching 24 I became mesmerized by a new Taco Bell commercial touting the“fourth meal.” I thought I’d invented the concept, except I call it second dinner and try to reserve such decadence for food-centric vacations and rare occasions. I thought their previous blatant “I’m full!” approach was grotesquely gluttonous enough, but wow, inventing an extra eating event is over the top. I’m trying to put that “peeking under their little togas” ickiness from my mind, permanently.

Of course that didn’t stop me from immediately checking out the new URL and playing with the Combinator, a drink pairing game. I picked chalupa supreme, Mexican pizza and caramel apple empanada and was suggested The Flashlight, a combo of 33% Pepsi Wild Cherry, 34% Mountain Dew and 33% Tropicana Lemonade. Virtual soda sommeliers are awesome and I don’t even like soft drinks.

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Mar 16

Boiling Point

Despite how it might seem, I don’t generally enjoy complaining. And I wasn’t ever going to mention how the heinous Starbucks sort of across the street from my new office makes me want to spit and scream and I’m always overly polite to customer service workers (though tonight our super late pizza delivery from Nino’s induced mild irritation mixed with light empathy because apparently the delivery guy, kind of an Italo-Mongloid hybrid, had dropped the pizza on the way over. I’d have felt bad if he had fallen but I think he was just butterfingers with the box. He was apologetic and waiting another 45-minutes, his estimate for a replacement pie, seemed unreasonable. But the pizza was all smooshed on one side of the box, like half the pie had all the fillings and the other part was mangled and topless) but today was free coffee day from 10am-12pm so it seemed timely to vent(i) my concerns.

I wouldn’t normally go to Starbucks, not because it’s inherently evil but because I’m cheap. But my mom has gone on this kick where she sends $25 Starbucks cards for holidays and I have no problem redeeming them. Since college she’s often mailed a twenty dollar bill on such occasions, I don’t know when or why the Starbucks changeover took hold.

I actually liked the “secret Starbucks,” as they’d call it, hidden in the back lobby of the building next to Newscorp with no external signage. It was never crowded and sometimes they’d give me larger coffees than I’d ordered. But the new-to-me Beaver St. location is like the setting for an episode of Boiling Points. I’ve gone about a handful of times and every time except for once I have no received my coffee. I order the simplest thing on the menu: a tall black coffee. That’s it. All they have to do is turn around and pour it from a spout or tell another worker to pour it from a spout. Yet, I pay, move to the side (not the larger area where 98% of people are waiting for fancier complicated beverages) and my coffee never arrives. On my first visit it was a solid five minutes before I realized no one was ever going to get my coffee. Frothy, whipped cream topped behemoths are flying out the door, everyone in line after me leaves, and I’m still waiting for my fucking drip coffee. I paid already, so it’s not like I can leave.

Yesterday, I lost my shit after the four women in line behind me received their drinks while I was standing inches from the gentleman who’d taken my order. I was like, “um, I ordered a coffee before all of these people” and the counter guy as well as three workers who were literally just standing behind the counter doing nothing ignored me. The one other drip coffee lady who’d arrived well after me was less polite than I. She chided everyone in the way only a middle aged woman with nothing to lose can. I would've been scared if she hadn't been on my side. Free or not, I can’t allow myself to step foot in that caffeinated hell again.

Plain black coffee is all that I want so I would be fine with the coffee cart brew. The going rate for a large (and strangely called extra large one block down) around Wall Street is $1.15. I can deal with that despite hating to dig around for the 15 cents. But I was blessed by Au Bon Pain when the other day the cashier gave me one of those plastic commuter cups for no reason whatsoever (I used to frequent the 47th and 6th branch daily and never got such treatment) I always thought their $1.72 large was a rip off since the coffee isn’t really any better than street coffee but for $1.07 with the free cup, it’s the only bargain of my day and had induced irrational loyalty. And I’m not put off by their self-serve approach, at least I have control over how quickly I get my goods. Now if they’d only bring back their half price baked goods after 4pm deal, all would be right with the world.

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Jan 9

Where’s the (99-Cent) Beef?

The two closest work food options are making me angry. I don’t expect greatness, but I wouldn’t mind a little cheapness.

Wendys Last year around this time I was on a Wendy’s salad kick. That petered out, which is unfortunate since now there’s a Wendy’s in the concourse below my office building. I really felt like junk food last week and half the staff was still out for the holidays so I didn’t feel so self-conscious about smelly food. I thought I’d order value menu small fries and a jr. bacon cheeseburger. Cheap and not too gluttonous.

Now, I swear the Wendy’s near my old job had a 99-cent menu and I know for a fact there are ads currently running that are hyping up the 99-cent menu (heck, 99 is in the URL). So why did my jr. bacon cheeseburger on the value menu cost $1.99? Baked potatoes, chili, frosty–none of it was 99 cents. What kind of Rockefeller Center bullshit is this?

I know they used to (and probably still do) have tiny print at the bottom of fast food commercials where they’d say “prices higher in Alaska and Hawaii” and I’d feel bad for the statehood latecomers, but last time I checked NYC was still part of the continental United States. Ok, the website does say, “prices available at participating Wendy’s.” What’s the point of a promotion of no one participates?

Au Bon Pain has been causing similar pain. One of their only redeeming qualities was the 50% off baked goods after 4pm deal, which isn’t followed in the branch that’s in the ground floor of this same building. We get some sort of discount with our work IDs (which I only figured out a few weeks ago when I saw someone flashing their badge) but that’s not the same as a half off brownie. Whatever, I’m supposed to be cutting sweet junk out of my diet as of today, anyway.

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Jan 3

Food Felons

— Petit_fours I can totally sympathize with this “Sweet Tooth Bandit” who spent nearly $700 at Swiss Colony using a stolen identity. I used to become desperate and tormented every holiday season when the unsolicited Swiss Colony catalog showed up on the mail. I would longingly page through the wish book, coveting the petit fours with all of my grade school being. I never ever got a single item from Swiss Colony and now that I have free will (and better taste in confectionary) I feel less compelled to order anything. If there’d only been an internet in the early ‘80s, who knows what havoc I might’ve tried to wreak.

–It’s not every day that fried chicken brings out the firebug in people. I do love the NYC brand name bastardization process. Somehow Kentucky Fried Chicken (don’t forget the Kitchen Fresh Chicken fiasco) becomes Kennedy Fried Chicken and then JFK Fried Chicken emerges.

I discovered the regionally confused chicken Maryland when I was in Penang. I never ordered any, but it appears to be fried chicken served with fried bananas, fritters, fries and sometimes sausage or bacon. Does that scream Baltimore to you?

The unanswered question in this arson case is why a Twin Donut would be selling fried chicken at all. Franchises are so renegade in NYC–I recall there used to be a Blimpie that sold Thai food on the side and a Chinatown Popeye’s that hawked pork dumplings under the counter. I’m sure there are countless other examples.

–Ok, malnourishment isn’t a felony but if your eating disorder fucks up my commute something criminal just might happen.

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Dec 30

Soy Candle in the Wind

Don’t even go there. It’s a tired phrase that I try to suppress when it pops into my head, but is it possible that there is an original there and it’s the Atlantic Center Target?

Perhaps the saying should be literal rather than sassy. Really, don’t even go there, you’ll be sorry. Last Friday James turned around and left after getting scared shitless by the mayhem. I didn’t see what he saw, but attributed it to pre-Christmas madness. But that doesn’t explain the sickening chaos I experienced yesterday on a post-holiday Thursday (clearly, I never learn–it turns out that I had this exact same problem at exactly the same time last year). We usually go to New Jersey or Q ueens for our Target fix, so maybe this is standard practice in Brooklyn.

Do these people (yes, those people) not know what a Target is meant to be like? There’s supposed to merchandise on the shelves, not empty rows and so much crap on the floor or abandoned, filled shopping carts blocking paths that you can barely walk. There are supposed to be express lanes so folks like me with four items don’t have to wait behind families buying what looks like a month’s worth (I hope it’s a month) of cereal, soda, cookies and potato chips. There are supposed to be enough cashiers open so that lines aren’t twenty deep and winding all the way back to the refrigerated section.

I was watching Signe Chanel on Sundance channel the other night (I’ve been very, very bored this week. Apparently, so bored that I’ve only watched things on channel 101. I also watched the hilariously non-American, Da Kath & Kim Code, both episodes of not-that-entertaining One Punk Under God and so-so but wonderfully bleak, Jude, which is the type of thing I’d normally flip past. I will never be bored enough to watch Iconoclasts, however) and Oprah was at a Chanel show in Paris and some middle-aged socialite sitting next to her was talking to about her new country home in Pennsylvania and how horrible New York City had become. Oprah agreed and said something along the lines of “people don’t realize that it’s not normal to live like that,” implying that there are squalor-free places full of peace, quiet and natural beauty. I’m no fan of Oprah, despite being a fellow INFJ, but this Brooklyn Target is a shining example of not living normally.

I only went because I needed one item that I know they carry, and it’s the most accessible Target (it’s about a thirty-minute walk home). I had to find a replacement shaving cream for my Whish mishap. They have Sharps brand, which is not only considerably cheaper but had specifically been asked for. The Target in Las Vegas (yes, I go to Targets on vacation) had a well-stocked display of toiletries and beauty products for both genders. Brooklyn had one small section that was 75% empty, none of the signage matched where the items were placed and there wasn’t a single price tag to be seen. I was so irritated that I almost turned around and left but that would only be thwarting myself.

8bloodpressure I don’t understand people who say beta-blockers work for anxiety (or migraines, for that matter). I have them for high blood pressure and half the time I feel like I’m going to bust a gasket, I’m perpetually un-calm. I’ve been taking halves for some time but the past few weeks I’ve upped my dosage to wholes because I’m convinced that swarms of humanity are going to give me a heart attack in my thirties. I wonder if I didn’t take high blood pressure medication at all if I’d simply keel over from life’s little annoyances.

James likes smelly shit and cleaning products so I thought I’d peek at the dreaded air freshener aisle. I gave in to a new lavender and lemongrass Method soy candle, but I had to draw the line at the Method plug-ins. They have that eco-chic thing happening but I’m fairly certain the scents are still cloying and artificial (how do you make a natural scented candle, anyway? I don’t imagine these $50 numbers are much less artificial. Hmm, these scents are actually intriguing—I’m not sure what “english black tea and cedar, tangled with blackish seaweed absolute” or “scents of wood stock, 19th century lacquer and smoky gunpowder” smell like but I am curious)

I resigned myself to the snaking checkout line and when I finally go to the register my candle wouldn’t scan properly. “Do you know how much this was?” asked the fairly efficient, not ill-tempered cashier.

You never know how a store will handle price checks. Often it’s so ridiculously busy that they take your word if your quote sounds reasonable but Western Beef, no matter how long the line, will always send a human to check even it takes all afternoon. I feel guilty about trying to cheat, so I’m usually honest.

“I think it was $5.99.” I didn’t just think, I knew with 99% certainty. She scrunched up her face like that didn’t seem right. I got unnecessarily nervous (all I could think was please don’t get a price check because I don’t have the patience and as usual I’ll end up saying forget it and leaving the item behind) and was all, “do you think it’s higher or lower?” “That’s seems like too much for a candle” was the answer. I thought it was actually cheap for a candle, but whatever, and then I started worrying if $5.99 was actually wrong and I was now going to be overcharged. I checked my receipt on the way out the door and was surprised to note that I’d only been charged $2.99 for the candle. I felt very good about saving $3 and softened a mite (just a mite) about the horribleness of Atlantic Center Target. But you still might have to reward me with more than three bucks to return.

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Posts from the ‘Chains of Love’ Category

I’m With the Band

$3.49 Lofthouse

Beefing up the Selection

Getting Your Jollies

Tidbits: Bauhaus and Mayonnaise

Fourth Dimension

Boiling Point

Where’s the (99-Cent) Beef?

Food Felons

Soy Candle in the Wind

Featured

Occasional Instagramming

Yes, it’s come to this

My Other Blogs

What?

The Past Will Haunt You

Pigeonholing 101