Whenever my dad (a gregarious MexTexican) comes to visit, his favorite thing to do is ask every random person he meets what they think is the best slice of pizza in New York City. He asks everyone. Cabbies. Bartenders. Bodega owners. He’s often eating a slice while he asks the guy, who just sold it [...]
Archive for February, 2010
February 24th, 2010
Pizza Field Notes, by Celest
February 19th, 2010
Market Report: Everything Tastes Better with Bacon
With the wind whipping, temperature dropping and snow accumulating, I spent much of the last two weeks nesting in my cozy (and at times tropical) fifth floor walkup. By Wednesday, however, cabin fever started to set in, and I knew I needed to take a trip up to Chelsea Markets, specifically, to Dickson’s Farmstand Meats. [...]
February 16th, 2010
Time for Lunch
It’s time for lunch. Or rather, it’s time to reform the school lunch program in this country. On Fat Tuesday, it’s apropos to direct you to my favorite celebrity chef at his recent TED Prize winning speech, wherein he announces that in the 18 minutes it will take for him to deliver said speech, 4 [...]
February 10th, 2010
Nesting
There’s snow on the ground, love in the air and wafts of garlic floating down the stairwell of my West Village apartment building. Perched on high in my New York nest, I’m infusing olive oil with garlic. My neighbors tell me they can smell me from the second floor of my fifth floor walk-up. I’ve [...]
February 5th, 2010
Market Report: Take it Slow
February is—for me—the most singular month of the year. It’s short, it’s unforgiving with its wicked weather and romantic overtures, and it’s spelled with one of the most baffling “r’s” in the English language. It’s bitterly cold, often snowing, and work is in shorter supply (at least for those of us whose idea of work [...]
February 2nd, 2010
Marmalade, sans Smoosh
I’m a cat person. Taleggio and I bonded over shellfish and sleeping in on Sundays as soon as I brought him home from the shelter. As the consummate bedfellow in my life, we share secrets. He’s the only other set of eyes to witness the dirty dishes I leave in the sink or my midnight [...]
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