1. Tom assures me that the burrito carts are in no danger of closing. I hope he's right.
2. Word on the street is: don't waste your hard-earned cash at Foster's, that new fancy place on Orange Street next to ArtSpace. Our anonymous tipster reported chicken so dry it was like jerky, a stuffed pork loin "special" that had likely been sitting in the fridge for three days, and syrup-like salad dressing. Every new kitchen takes a few weeks to find its stride, to be sure, but when the chef has this kind
of kitchen experience, the learning curve should probably be a little less steep.
Last night, while taking the Australians to dine on mashed potato pizza at Bar: OMG Arturo! On the street! Mr. Roomba/Bespoke himself! I came |thisclose| to stopping him and pleading with him to keep the burrito carts open. Jen makes a good point: those damn carts make him too much money to close, so I'm less worried than I was, but still. Burrito lunch today, and maybe an extra one to keep in the freezer.
All-Girls-Superfun-Weekend (with three dudes and some babies) in the Poconos was a veritable International Party (as opposed to Alcohol Party, which didn't become as fully realized as Casey and I thought it might -- witness remaining liters of gin and vodka) of culinary delights. Tildy and Robin's crepes on Friday night. Pauline's "Full English" fryup on Saturday morning, followed a few short hours later by Sol's Korean barbeque smorgasbord with two different cuts of beef, pork belly, and squid. Later that night, the Canadians Nicole and Elisa represented with a whole salmon, butter tarts, and stout ice cream transported all the way from Toronto. And Ariel and Katy made a true Continental breakfast for us on Sunday: Ariel's typical Danish brunch spread of cheeses, breads, lightly pickled tomatoes and cucumbers, and fruits, served up with Katy's Italian strata and British dried cherry and lemon scones.
All this consumed while lounging about in pajamas half the day under dappled sunlight in the Glass House (no, not that one, but one almost as lovely), interrupted by swimming in the warm lake and rousing rye-fueled games of Taboo, followed by more eating. And so much laughing. My sides are still split.
Yale Does It Again
has never been one of my favorite local restaurants, but it was one of the pioneers of New Haven's much-touted Restaurant Renaissance. Plus, I like their burritos, sold from three carts around town. And when I say that I "like" them, I mean it as in "I like to breathe."
Now they're closing
over a dispute with their Yale landlords.
If this means no more pork-with-everything burritos, there will be Hell. To. Pay.
A Cry for Help
People, I am addicted and need an intervention. I am addicted to the Panang Curry at Thai Taste
here in New Haven. The vegetables are not very fresh. The rice is your white standard-issue. But the sauce. Oh, the sauce! I think it has crack in it.
At the very least, it has kaffir lime leaf
in it, which must be on my top-ten-flavors-on-the-planet list. I have eaten the Panang Curry twice in a week, now, and today I have a bit of a tummy weirdness. Perhaps I am overdosing. I really could eat it every day: so spicy, so pink, so smooth, so beautifully creamy
when combined with 9,428 calories of white rice.
Please help. Where else should I go for lunch, now that all my local microwaves are locked up for the summer? (I plan on making myself lots of cold salads, too: send recipes for your favorites!)
Photo by Amanda and Tyler.