pinche taco

when my friend adan told me that there was a new taco place called "pinche" i just about snarfed my sprite through my nose. how awesome. fucking taco. now if only a chocha churros opened up next door, my life would be complete.

i went on a blind blogger date. could it get any light-me-on-fire-dorkier than that? nope. don't think so. he has a blog called "lost taco". poor joshy lost his taco. he can't have mine. my coochie remains in the gucci name. he just moved here from southern california and i guess no one told him that good mexican food doesn't exist in new york city. he is on a hunt though, more luck to him.



the first thing my eyes zone in on is the modelo especial in a can. now this is interesting.



i order one taco al pastor and one taco carne asada.

corn tortilla? check
greasy wet meat? check
chopped onions? check
chopped cilantro? check
juicy lime wedge? check

plus a tiny bit of guac and salsa. OH. goodness. it was good.

he had the fish taco, i've never been a fan but he swore it was up to par.

the dude who owns the place has another pinche taco in tijuana, or TJ as he affectionately calls it. but here you won't get a knife pulled on you. although, with the economy...

i will go back. for sure. fer sher, dude.

pinche tacos
lost taco

oh, schiller's, i just can't stay away.

here we are again. schiller's. pimm's cups and nachos. hoorah!



anna. swede. another one sucked into my evil web of pimm's.



i asked this girl if i could take a picture of her for my website. she about fainted. maybe she thought i was a model scout or something. and she imagined calling her mom in virginia saying, "momma! i knew there was a reason i took that internship here!" little does she know, i am just using her mug for material.



this guy, too. but maybe he thought that smiling for my blackberry would get him laid. joke's on you sucka! blazers aren't my style.




back to the topic at hand...

nachos.

no more nachos.



oh please let me scrape out a little bit more nachos!



and a hot maitrd wearing pegleg. apparently peg leg boys are awesome. can't wait to meet them one day.

indian

in my opinion, the best curry in the city is at KAHARI. it's on christopher street, so if you don't mind looking at big black dildo's through the window, then this is the place for you.

the owner is there every night, and even though he looks stressed out, he only wants to please you. they always refill your water without asking.

they deliver, too. here is my chicken tikka masala. and basmati rice, and roti. FUCKING GOOD. but it's so good that i always eat too much and i feel like my tummy is going to pop. which it usually does around 11am the next day.

kahari

lo siento

i feel really bad about neglecting all my fans (3, not including my mother). but turning thirty is rough. well, not really, but it is an amazing excuse to neglect everything in your life for a week or two.

i did eat lunch today, but blogging about mcdonald's is so boorring.

but dinner was fun. lots of shit to talk about diner in brooklyn. brooklyn--i just, i mean, i get it? maybe? maybe it's cause i am not from here. so to me, moving to new york meant manhattan. like in the woody allen movies. anywho.

after driving, yes driving to brooklyn, my friend roi and i went to a place called diner. it is right next to another place whose name i can't remember (cause it sucked) that i went to on a first date. (hey dude, i know you read this. long time! i hope your life is good. i heard your new girlfriend is hot).

as soon as i walk in i ask the guy if this and the neighboring place share a kitchen. he said no and i go, "oh phew! cause i ate next door once and the food totally sucked!"

then he goes, "well, it's the same chef."

great. what's the bet he shit in my food? and then sprinkled salt and basil on it so i wouldn't know?

with an open mind i sat down. the menu has 6--that's SIX--things on it. then this hipster waitress with a completely unsexy short haircut and mismatched ironic earrings squats down at the table and starts rattling off the specials while she writes down keywords like "arugula" and "pork" and "bass" on the paper table cloth. OH MY GOD THAT IS SO ANNOYING. is that some sort of trick to make me think this place is cool? like more of a trick than the fact that it is in brooklyn and you don't wash your hair?



they never poured our water.



i had risoto. gross. roi had braised pork, horrible fatty and salty and gross.



we were both so hungry after our gross food that we ordered a burger. no joke.



the fries were good. i paid the bill and we left. this is what we saw. i mean, words cannot describe... $100 says that is "art."



i had to shower with really really hot water to get that williamsburg grime off of me. take me back to manhattan!!

calling all euros

met my friend maria for lunch. she has that same disease that demi moore has. you know, the one where you never age a day past 27? fucking cunt. if that perpetual youth disorder was sexually transmitted i would close my eyes and make out with her just to catch it.



anywhoo. maria is my ex-boyfriend's best friend/ex-girlfriend (different ex-boyfreind...yah, i have been around). i met her 7 years ago. she once told me i had to stop acting like a brat if i ever wanted people to like me. ouch. but i dig her a lot. plus, she likes to drink. plus she has seen me wasted dancing to britney's "hit me baby, one more time" to a group of 40 year olds in montauk. i can't remember if that was the night before or after i got so drunk i decided to take off all my clothes and do the dishes because i thought i was alone--in front a goup of 40 year olds in montauk.

we had wine at lunch. so decadent i love it. we went to bread on spring between elizabeth and mott.

i have never been to this place during the day and i must say i prefer it. tons of foreigners. a veritable european union. of course, nobody from turkey.

we split an avocado and beet salad and a chicken sandwich thing. warning: the sandwiches aren't under a "sandwich" section. they are under "bread." which is totally counterintuitive if you want the lunch special of "soup and 1/2 sandwich." shouldn't it be "soup and 1/2 bread"? grrr.




they messed up on one thing. gave only gave us half a bread instead of a whole bread. by bread i mean sandwich. you see how confusing this is?



everything was delicious. they guys there were GORGEOUS.

i will go back. for lunch. they take credit cards, but no amex. if i am missing 25.60 miles to make my upgrade, i will go back and burn that place down.

(anita, if you read this, i better see you and your little friend on saturday night.)

bread

finlay

or is it finnley, or finly or whatever.

finlay is a scottish photographer friend. he is NUTS. one of my top 10 nights in new york city was with him a year ago. no funny stuff at all, just fun stuff.

i hopped over to ditch plains to meet him for din din. i was on the phone ordering domino's when i got the click through. and thank goodness because otherwise i would be sober in bed watching ken burns's "the war" on pbs wondering what it would be like to not shower for 6 months. and all that other gruesome death stuff.

made finley take an oyster shooter. i took the oyster out of my shot because it looked like a huge pussy, and i don't put those in my mouth.



my other friend told some woman he knew there that i was a food critic. i was sure that would get us a free something, but apparently it only got us too much description of the dishes. here is a suggestion from a food critic, ma'am. the fish tacos need some spice, and that tabasco sauce on the table is not going to cut it. but good job on the corn tortillas and enough lime for each taco. i also applaud the change in the menu (after over a year, it is about fucking time). and good job putting the burgers on proper plates instead of baskets like we are at the state fair.



ok. ran into a friend's ex fiance upon exit. AWKWARD. she got fat. best revenge, that and he has a totally hot new girlfriend. --whatever....your mother...works...at mcdonalds.... (finlay taught me that. it's a little interactive and doesn't translate well throught text)

N E way. went to blue ribbon's new wine bar on bedford street. (HEY YOU! IF I WALK IN AND YOU RECOGNIZE ME, GIVE ME YOUR SEAT, BITCH. THIS PLACE IS SMALL AND I AM DOING YOU A FAVOR BY EVEN TELLING YOU ABOUT IT.)

i had a hummingbird. it was st. germain, champagne, and soda with strawberries floating in it. too cute.




finlay had a fancy margarita. roi had a scotch. then we all were dry and ready for more.

while roi nearly passed out next to us, we ordered the champagne tasting. it's neat their little tastings. they give you basically half full glasses of three different varieties of a specific something or other. only the wine nerds know what the fuck is really going on. finlay knocked over and shattered the glass of $180/BOTTLE champagne. i was just laughing. all the wine nerds hated us.

then, we had some sick, stinky rum. it smelled like cow shit but apparently that was considered good?



i gave mine to finlay because i would rather drink gasoline than that funky "fancy" stuff. seriously? it tasted like everclear mixed with brown sugar. he drank 'em both. i told him i would try harder to keep up with him tomorrow...

whatever, your mother works at mcdonald's. WMWM.

xo

blue ribbon bar

ditch plains

oui oui

french food, jewish owner, polish waitresses.

at least we all get along. (now.)



cafe henri is sort of a staple in this small hood. bedford and downing. it's not quite the west village, not quite soho, and not quite greenwich village. maybe we sould become seperatists.

i will be the borough president. my first order will be to exile all college grads who are here for one year. just because you "lived" in new york for a year doesn't mean you accomplished something. a furnished sublet and a parent's credit card isn't quite surviving, now is it? the second order will be to plant grass on all the sidewalks and put signs up everywhere that say "please stay off the grass." boy, would that be fun. oh, and for sure there would be congestion pricing.

i digress. cafe henri has amazing strong coffee, but not burnt like charbucks. just perfectly black. they will even warm your milk for you.



i switch between the lemon and sugar crepe with strawberries, and the lamb marguez sandwich. both excellent. no matter what, i get a tartine. the baguette is soft inside, toasty outside, and served with butter and fresh fruit compote. they also have fresh squeezed orange juice. (careful, the other juices are from bottles).




that picture is icky.

other good things: ham & butter & cornichon sandwich, any omelette, granola & fruit & yogurt, goat cheese & leek crepe, croque monsieur.

marion was pleased she could have a cold glass of chardonnay. at 11am. diff'rent strokes for diff'rent folks (alcoholics).



i went there twice this weekend. happy all the time there, except for when this happens:



the restaurant is small. and it's like a mexican standoff when two chair backs hit each other. neither party wants to pull in. they think "why should i? let her pull in." then it gets nasty and pretend laughter erupts and the sitter thrusts back in hysterics banging the back of his chair into the back of your chair right as you sip your extra hot (because the milk was warmed) coffee and it splashes up your nose.

fourth order of business for fraulein president is to change chairs at cafe henri.

grilled lonely with a side of lonely

today was a quiet lunch. just three of us. me, us weekly, and people. i did most of the talking.


we, i mean i (those sluts are concerned with body image), ate at washington square diner. way better than waverly, in my opinion (except waverly has way better fries).

grilled cheese with tomatos, well done.



it was nice being alone. i could think.

think about the hot outfit i was going to wear to my friend's birthday party tonight. is the box still cool? can't be alone forever, you know.

(washington square is on west 4th and 6th ave)

amy amy bo-bamy

stopped by amy's bread on bleecker and leroy to pick up a sack lunch.

internet is down in office so i have to work from home. (because work=surfing the net; therefore...)



amy's food is awesome. their coffee is the best in the city, in my opinion. i have never ever had anything bad there. #1 is the grilled cheese sandwich. it has cilantro, tomatoes, red onion, some spicy tomato paste, and they grill it on a panini press.

i got black bean soup and a mini tuna salad sandwich and a grape fizzy lizzy. all incredibly good. the soup in the picture looks like nutty dog diarreah, but it sure didn't taste like it. (again, cracking up to myself...oh, boy.)



you should knoow that they don't have napkins out. to get a napkin, you have to interrupt someone giving their order or cut the line at the register. i have even asked and they say the manager doesn't like to leave them out because people take them. helloooo! people are supposed to take them! how the fuck else do you blow your snot or wipe food off your face? ugh.

also, if you want to get a job there, make sure your IQ is less than 58 and your smiling muscles are permanently paralized.

for dessert, nutella and peanut butter on a spoon. please excuse the black eyes. i was up late last night sending dirty texts to an out of town friend. guys are so dumb. listen up, pervs: if you ask a girl if she's naked, and she says, "oooh, yeah. you know it." what she really means is she's wearing ugly pj's and anti wrinkle cream, the tv is on, and her dog is playing with a chew toy right next to her. she might, might also be picking at her dry heels. how is THAT for hot?

amy's bread

this is how it should be.

my friend jane, sister and i went to blue ribbon on bedford and downing.

seriously? this is the best restaurant for me in all of new york.

loook at the size of this asapragus.


the service is amazing. waiters are waiters. they know their place. you would never know if they wished they were reading a script instead of cleaning your crumbs. and damnit, that is what being a fucking WAITER is.

and i believe, me. i have been there. but i quit when i thought i was too good for it. i didn't take it out on my customers. well, actually, for a while i didn't wash my hands after peeing. but then i quit.

and more, the menu has everything you could possibly want. from pickled tongue to burgers. the music is background. the lighting is flattering. the breast feeding women are pretty. wait, what? (look carefully)


yes. i am fucking sorry. BREAST FEEDING YOUR CHILD AT A DINNER TABLE IS VOMITOUS. i saw nipple. i don't want to see a strange woman's nipple unless i am on a topless beach in greece, and even then i do not want to see a newborn baby attached to it. GROSS GROSS GROSS. i almost went over and said something, which is oviously not out of character for me. but i was paralized by disgust. i think the manager could sense it and he didn't charge us for the stilton cheese. take that big boobied bitch. bet YOU paid for your cheese.

blue ribbon bakery

i need help.

i just... i can't. i just don't know what is wrong with me. it's not that i don't actually have a reason to be at ikea, because i do. it's that i purposely don't eat before i go so that i just "happen" to be hungry when i get there.



it all started out well. but a glitch in the system (well, really i lost the receipt i was supposed to bring--it said it clearly in capitol letters on my form that i should, but i have this thing where i don't think the rules apply to me) meant i had to go to customer service after lunch. perfect! an excuse to eat cinnamon buns while i waited for my number to be called. i was 67 and they were only on 44. that was around 1:30pm. funny ha, ha. still loving that we are rocking ikea.



cut to 7:30pm, stuck in fucking new jersey STILL and i wanted someone to shove a self assembled bookshelf up my ass because i was sure it would feel better than the situation i was in.

i will never. i repeat: never! go back to ikea. it is way too expensive to save money that way. time is money, dog.

(but if anyone does go, can you pick up a pack of frozen meatballs for me? and the gravy mixture packet. um, and not to be greedy, but they recommend TWO gravy mixes for every pack of meatballs. that's all. no biggie.)

glutton for punishment

i wish i could say i stick to the never returning to a bad restaurant thing, but seriously? in new york? who has the time.

GEMMA. again. why do i do this to my taste buds/bowels?

off of an 11" x 14" menu, there was literally only one thing i could stomach stomaching.



you know what that is? egg. mayonnaise. white bread (no crusts). kind of hard to fuck that one up, no?

i ate half of it. the other half found it's way all over my face and then i rubbed the rest on my tits while the other al fresco diners watched in horror. or amazement. or probably jealousy that i was such a wild, uninhibited soul while saying to each other, "tee hee, oh my. only in new york city, dear! only in new york! i told you staying on the bowery would be fun! every one is just so free here!"





and to wash it all down, a home made sprite. lemon, lime, soda, and a sugar cube. we invented it. it's pretty.



the sandwich was $7. no idea how much anything else there is.

this is fuk'd

i went to the waverly inn tonight.

soraya looked hot...(i am not really gay, soraya is my partner and best friend. but not a GAY PARTNER. like, a business partner. look, i know how is looks, but you have to trust me.)



i schmoozed with:
demi moore
lucy liu
bahz lurman
puff daddy (p.diddy?)
larry gagosian

and when i say schmoozed, i mean i spoke to them all. maybe they didn't speak back, and the owner emil had to hold me back, but whatev's. were you there? didn't think so biatch.

but the sick thing is, i came home drunk and ordered an entire Joe's Pizza. all i really wanted was a slice, but i couldn't be bothered with walking there (it is one block away).





for $20 (including tip) i got an entire pizza pie. it's not quite the same as eating it on the street with other drunk fucks, but what-ever. i scooped all the sauce off of every piece and put it on the two slices i actually ate. the rest i left for my mice. oh yes, i have mice. once i got over the grossness of it, i realized they are kind of cute and think of them as my pets.



oh, boy. and the guy i met on the way out of the waverly thought i was an actress (actress, not model--ugh) and wanted to talk to me. i love wearing my yankees hat super low and walking out of a celebrity infested restaurant like i own the place. it really throws people off.

on another note, i am looking for a guy whose feet are this big. because size (of your feet) matters.

waverly inn

joe's pizza