The whole point of coming to NYC is to eat food.
So far I may have consumed more calories than 1 and a half people should eat in a week.
Jaw-dropping mouth-watering food at Perbacco on Monday night. Parmesan creme brulee (the brulee part was balsamic vinegar), fried stuffed olives, truffle sauce for fried polenta, some sort of sweet pickled onion that burst goodness in our mouths, fried PASTRY CREAM, and my main course? Kabocha ravioli in browned butter with savory sausage on one side, sweet amaretto foam on the other. I am bowing to their genius and we went to bed so, so happy, for many nights to come (because of the food-induced coma). Of course, I will never, ever, ever be able to eat Italian food again because now I have an expectation. And Olive Garden lovers, there is something wrong with you. That is not an offense I will be apologizing for later, so don’t even ask in the comments.
Iz, I was wishing the whole time that you had been there. You would have been figuring out how to make all that food, and we were only thinking of how we would never be able to make that food.
Brazilian Charrascuria yesterday for lunch where the fat crackled with perfect sweet garlic (did I take pictures? DID I? NO! We were too busy eating. Like dogs half-starved, except we were still stuffed from dinner the night before), and several half cupcakes from Crumbs after that.
Then we saw Snoop Dog walking out of the David Letterman building.
Whaaaaaat? We may have imagined it. Calories can play tricks on a person.
We didn’t stay for Kristie Alley, because we knew it was going to hit too close to home.