I Love Food Trucks

I fess up about food trucks. Here in the City, they dot virtually every street corner. Most of them are fairly generic halal-type trucks or stands, but every now and then something special comes up. For example, the other day I saw the Mexicue truck, which was exciting to me as a NYC newbie because it was different from all the other carts: it was larger, red, and had a line 15 people deep. I've tasted the delights of a Mr Softee truck, and earlier today I had my first waffle from Wafel and Dinges. I've already set my sights on finding the Dumpling Rickshaw truck, regardless of their quality of food. It's safe to say I'm addicted to food trucks.

The food is usually pretty good from these trucks, but the real fun of it lies in their effervescent nature. They're on wheels, they're mobile. One day the Mexicue truck could be there, the next, it could be gone for a week, popping up on the other side of town where you didn't expect it.

The food truck concept is genius because it is essentially a massive game of hide-and-go-seek, only with food as the reward. (I suppose that's what hunting is...) Like my friend TropeGirl's Youtube video states, it adds the extra incentive of prestige - finding the food truck and attached bragging rights - to the reward of eating reasonably tasty food for a low(er) price. Genius.

We have food trucks in Los Angeles, and they're good when you hap upon them, but Los Angeles is such a sprawling city. There's not one on every street corner, to my limited knowledge. I know finding them is as easy as merely punching in the food truck's location, driving to it, and finding parking, but I'm in an LA suburb and getting into downtown is a bit of a trek. For here and now, I prefer the food trucks here in NYC.

I am aware these food trucks have Twitter accounts which tell you where they're going to be. To be a hardcore food-truck-hide-and-go-seeker, you find the food trucks without Twitter.

Another Concert in the Park

Or an attempted one, anyway.

Whilst at work, my sister emailed me about an extra ticket to a Black-Eyed Peas concert happening in Central Park later in the evening. No one else in her acquaintance had jumped on it yet, so I did. Whoo, I had something to do in the evening! I was getting nervous that I wouldn't have something to write home about tonight.

After I ate my dumplings, I met my sister at her office, and we made our way to Central Park together. We came out of the subway station and were awash in people, all trying to get into the Park. My knee-jerk reaction was to turn tail and head home; it wouldn't be worth fighting all the crowds. However, I steeled myself and figured this was New York City. There are crowds. Deal with it, self. Tickets to this concert were done by free raffle, so there were bound to be loads of people. And besides, you're a student in a very expensive city - standing in lines for free things is the experience. Ooh, memo to self: write editorial post on these kinds of experiences and feeling happy that I'm having these experiences because I ought to have them instead of enjoying them for their own intrinsic value.

As we were standing in line to get into the Park, the heavy, humid clouds gave off a flash of lightning. The crowd said "aah" in its usual mindset of "entertain me" and "everything is a spectacle." It was at this point that it started to rain. Umbrellas up (my sister had advised me to bring two), and we started to mosey forward like a bunch of cattle wielding pokers. It's a mild feat to walk forward while keeping of track of someone as you hold an umbrella and avoid poking multiple people's eyes out, mind you.

In our cumbrous fashion, we moved forward until it really started to rain. At this time, it was about 8 p.m.; the concert had been scheduled to start at 7:30 p.m., but it had been delayed for rain. One member of our party had cancelled on us, and the other member was AWOL. Well, the cry went through the crowd that the event was cancelled; a woman standing near us confirmed the fact by looking at the concert's Facebook page.

We were, in a sense, quite washed up.

To avoid the crowds coming home, we started heading home. Walking in a summer rain, even in New York City, is enjoyable, and we walked all the way home. We stopped about every ten minutes for a photo opportunity, to talk to someone (on phone, and actually my sister ran into someone she knew outside of FAO Schwartz), to eat waffles with spekuloos from the Waffles & Dinges food truck, or to take grungy photos of ourselves eating food outside of posh stores. It continued to rain sporadically, the heat was still oppressive, but the pavement was awash in bejeweled light, spilling from every building side and lamp onto the pavement.

Like Edinburgh, New York City has its own type of starlight.

Rickshaw Dumplings Obtained!

I was coming home from my internship, and due to this evening's plans, I needed to get dinner to go. Lo and behold, I had something ready and lined up: Rickshaw Dumpling! I eagerly made my way across the streets, a clear destination guiding me from Grand Central Station across Lexington like a beacon of red-and-white striped goodness, the promise of dumplings sweet and heavy in the oppressively humid air.

I arrived, and to my delight, no one was in front of me, and there were five people ready to take my order. I am a fan and budding connoisseur of duck, so I ordered the duck dumplings and some spicy noodles on the side. Five minutes later, I was out the door again with my brown bag filled with my spoils, and another few minutes brought me to the apartment. A few more moments brought the dumplings to my mouth.

I stuffed the first dumpling into my mouth and munched away. Then kept on munching more slowly. The meat wasn't very tender, nor was it very flavorful. Everywhere I read about stars (like Ira Glass) saying how much they love New York's food and how they eat like kings; though I have paid a pretty penny, I was not eating like a king. Disappointed was I in my Rickshaw dumplings. Maybe I shouldn't have the ordered the duck but stuck with a solid classic like their pork. And their spicy noodles were a bit too spicy, but I shouldn't complain about that because I knew what I was getting into.

Despite this disappointment, I'll still go with my co-intern to find the Rickshaw Dumpling truck tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is National Iced Tea Day, and the Dumpling truck (if not all trucks and restaurants) is giving away free Snapple.

Vicarious Living, Part I

I have received my first request for something to do in the City! Cousinling Kristen has requested that I go to Lombardi's for pizza on Spring Street (just a hop-skip-jump from the Line 6 subway!). It has been touted as the "absolute best pizza in NYC" by a friend of my cousinling. I'll give it a go! If it's not mind-bogglingly expensive, anyway. I am still a student, and since the address does not appear to be a numerical street, it's probably in a very fashion-conscious, flavor-conscious part of town.

It should be noted that I my sampling of pizza is and will be limited, as New York is home to over 9 million people, and there are countless pizza places to serve all of them.

Not that it has anything to do with pizza in New York, but the best pizza I've ever tasted came from this little Italian place in Madrid just off Sol. My Italian co-worker invited a few of us to come along with her, and she approved it as one of the few places to get a real Italian pizza in the city. Being Italian, she spoke to the chef/owner in Italian and became one of his bosom buddies because of their shared nationality. She ordered me a specialty pizza, topped with American sausage, extra tomato sauce, and some really good cheese I can't recall the name of. It's been nearly a year since I had that pizza; it made an impression on me.

P.S. I have a new goal in life: ingratiate myself into a (real, not a 5th generation pseudo Italian-American) Italian family.

First Day at the Office! And a Taste of Times Square!

I had my first day of work! My sister got out bright and early this morning, or at least by New York standards, and I was left up to myself to figure out what I wanted to wear and freak out. The time rolled around for me to leave the apartment, and once I did so, things were so much better. As long as I am occupied or directing my energy towards something, my nerves don't work so hard on me.

I get to the building, which I was already familiar with because I had walked to it last night. (NB It looks like a tiered wedding cake, complete with three layers.) I followed the directions on how to enter, whom to call, which floor to take, etc, and found myself in a gigantic, open office, filled with loads of natural light, nary a cubicle in sight, and decorated in a very chic, modern manner: the reception area was a polished cement floor like one you might find in Urban Outfitters, and space in it was covered with a limish green shag rug. The light fixtures are white, the desks are white, the cupboards are white, but where there is color, they don't tread with trepidation: splashes of muted lime green, pink, yellow. A place to foster creativity, imagination, and teamwork, indeed. My desk is out in the boonies, but I don't mind; it's a little quieter than in the center of the office.

I won't spend too long on my first day, but it started off on the right foot. (The optimistic cynic in me thinks it can only go downhill because it was that good of a first day. If I'm wrong, I'll be pleasantly surprised - one of my favorite feelings.) I think I'll get along well enough with my fellow intern - who coincidentally grew up in the same Home I did - and my supervisor and her co-worker are really nice. Things are looking good, indeed, and the work interests me. It's not something I would want to do forever, but I'm content doing it as an intern for a summer.

After work, I took some time and made a call, and then I went with a group from my Church (part of FHE, whoo!) to "A Taste of Times Square." Essentially, restaurants with locations on Times Square set up tables in the  street and sell you food for a few tickets. Amongst the delicacies available, I tasted some real beer-battered fish and chips from St. Andrew's Pub, some pizza (can't remember the vendor), and some sirloin tip possibly from Shuler. And some cheesecake at the very end. But best of all, I got to wander around and get to know some people better.

All in all, a successful day.

So I Went on a Field Trip...

... to the state liquor store on Tuesday. I've been trying to do more cooking recently, and we needed some of the contraband. For Christmas I received the cookbook that the gourmet cook in our community uses - you know the type, every community has one. I found two great recipes I'm going to try this week, one for chicken and one for a beef stew (since it is winter and all). Both of these recipes, however, call for an alcoholic beverage to be added to the cooking solution. Alcohol is a pretty contraband substance for Mormons. Instead of using regular cooking wine and sherry, as my mother is wont to do, we took the advice of our friend and decided to go for the real thing, though. That meant a trip to the State Liquor Store.

I was inordinately excited, because buying liquor is something I've never done before - despite living for a semester in Scotland. I was almost overwhelmed with the choice and selection; I was a babe in the woods. Here was a sign saying "GIN", another scribbled "South African" in handwritten letters. We needed some white wine and some red; because neither of us know what we we're doing, we buy cheap bottles.

I was with my mother, and she didn't get carded. Earlier today, I was making a stew which needed some beer. I got some from the local grocer's, but was a little gutted that the cashier didn't card me.

I should probably stop cooking food that requires alcohol, as I get too much of a kick out of it. Anyway, the food I made tasted alright. Not nearly as much fun as cooking it or buying the alcohol to cook it in.

Snow!

Mom coming over with a shovel to help clear neighbor's driveway.

"Mormon Moment" - Pt. 2

The title for "Mormon Moment" came from one of my very dearest friends who will remain anonymous for the purpose of this post. We had known each other for about a year and had many conversations about Mormonism, because the doctrines we teach and espouse have had a profound influence on who I am and who I want to be.


One day, she told me that she had been to the nearby (fantastic) coffee shop and was drinking a mocha when all of a sudden she stopped and thought to herself, "Oh crap! I can't be drinking this!" because she momentarily thought she was a Mormon. She described this as a "Mormon moment."

I'm Mormon, which means I get to have these moments all the time! Whoo!

Mormonism: 1 (n +1)

Caffeinated beverages: 0

Midori and Zil, that was for you. Yes, you know what I'm talking about.

How to Make Your Chocolate Taste like Fridge

First of all, you need a bar of quality chocolate, any quality will do. I suggest Kinder Chocolate, because I think it is German (not Italian), and all German chocolate is good.

Second, you need to have a refrigerator. Put your chocolate at the back of your fridge. You only need to leave it there a day, but if you want a stronger flavor, leave it there for a couple of days. Make sure that the chocolate is near a cooling/freezing agent, and then it fridge water trickles over it at least once.

Take out and throw whatever minimal (non-foil/permeable) wrapping you had around the chocolate. Taste. Mmmm, refrigerator flavor, my favorite. Throw rest of chocolate away because some sort of coolant might have gotten into your chocolate.