Ok ok, so I didn’t make this pizza. It’s from HUB (that’s Hopworks Urban Brewery) here in Portland. They have good beers, burgers, and pizza. Amen. This one was topped with feta, mozzarella, spinach, black olives, and garlic. I can’t make any claims to its deliciousness other than the fact we had the foresight to pack up after 4 slices last night and bring the rest home to reheat for lunch today in the toaster oven. Oh, and I may have slipped a few sardines in there. This was an excellent pizza yesterday. But today, that feta toasted beautifully, all golden and bubbling; those black olives developed little crispy edges and oh… let’s just say I closed my eyes while eating this slice. But the real secret is that almost burnt outer crust with its earthy goodness (and obviously carcinogenic badness, so don’t eat the totally charred bits) and golden, flaky layers which give way to a decidedly chewy center. I think the following day it’s more pie than pizza. Anything good about a pizza pie can only be enhanced in the toaster oven. Few foods can lay claim to being reborn. Pizza, well, few foods are pizza for sure.

Pickles reached new heights of popularity in New York in the last ten years. Recently, though, I’ve been in a terrible pickle of my own over the cost of my favorite local ferments. $8-12 for a jar of Rick’s Picks or McClure’s (technically a Detroit native) is obscene. While the idea of supporting local LES establishments was novel the first couple times, and most certainly delicious, these “hand-packed” gourmet varieties have gotten outside of my condiment budget (and out of control). Barrels of Guss‘ have cropped up everywhere in the LES from Spitzer’s Corner all the way to Whole Foods. Although they are cheaper, I can’t stomach their yellowy complexions and bloated, rubbery skin without the slightest impression of crunch. Travesty.

Bacon, bacon, where’s the bacon? I smell bacon. Bacon bacon gotta be bacon. Only one thing smells like bacon and that’s bacon! Bacon bacon bacon bacon there. In that bag. What’s it’s say?! I can’t read! Please, please give me what’s in the bag. Chewy, yummy, smokey, bacon! Oh boy oh boy num num num num num it’s bacon! - Beggin’ Strips

Matthew Timms’ Bacon Takedown at Radegast Hall in Williamsburg was a greasy, delectable tasting of 30 bite-sized bacon noshes stuffed on a foam plate and eaten with some serious beer goggles. The winners didn’t exactly lumber up and body slam their 27 losing opponents onto the Hall floor in true takedown fashion, and the dysfunctional line of 300 meant up to a two hour wait for the $10 grub, but it was generally a friendly and delicious pork-filled affair.

Cupcakes have long needed a makeover. In October of 2007, recent Parsons grad Keavy Landreth turned her procrastination of baking into a decadent little moneymaker called Kumquat Cupcakery. The catch? You may think you can eat 12 of these bite-sized cupcakes, but they are surprisingly rich and delicious. So let’s say it would be like stuffing 12 bonbons in your mouth.

I enjoy being one of the youngest in a room. I enjoy being one of five in a room who decided against wearing black. I further enjoy it when the person who one-ups me is a woman wearing a pink Egyptian-cotton button down (that ends up amazingly being an old Gap purchase), and a pair of bright red corduroys. I also love food (oh yeah?), chefs who go to great pains to source local and fresh ingredients, and as many small appetizer portions as I would like in no particular order. Dessert mid-meal? Sure, knock yourself out. So we did. In case it isn’t obvious by now, this is my idea of a meal saved up for.

What is it about New Yorkers having beer and cupcakes for people’s birthdays? Don’t get me wrong, I jump at the chance of bringing sweets to a bar. I relish having inebriated and starving vixens approach me, demanding, “Who are you? Give me a cupcake.” There’s no pause before they snatch one up and lick that cupcake a new asshole. Unfortunately, they don’t make it past the icing, and instead wander the bar looking for a “friend” to “eat [their] cakey part.” But the cake just winds up in a dark little corner, looking like a mouse nibbled on it for a bit and gave up. That rush of sugar must catalyze some kind of positive reaction for the already overworked liver, but this would happen with any lickable sweet. Why cupcakes, New Yorkers?