Why bother?
So, I'm just finishing up a great night in NY, and will be heading back out come morning - but one thing sticks in my mind quite often when I do these pairings.
Why do some people even bother?
We went to a place called Bianca in Greenwich Village on the recommendation of the captain. I know, and am completely aware, that not everyone is a foodie. But the chances of getting a whole freaking crew of people who went to a delicious restaurant and ordered chef's recommendations only to find out that these people don't actually like food?!
We're talking picking/scraping off truffles (I had a tiny bite of a girl's appetizer after she'd had a bite and liked it, and I commented on the delicate flavour of the truffles. She freaked out, assuming it was literally shit, and then once I told her to think of it as a mushroom, she freaked out more because she "hates mushrooms", which is dumb beacause she liked it. And she is 31.), poking a slice of proscuitto and then licking it and deciding it's gross (it's fucking bacon from a different part), and ordering a "rye and coke" at a fancy resto to go with your meal - receiving a wonderfully balanced mix of a 15-year rye that tastes spicy and intriguing and went with your meal and then making fun of it because it's "firewater" (aka, there is booze in there you can taste), the vegan refusing the pasta pomodoro she ordered because she insisted she ordered "spaghetti and tomato sauce" (pomodoro must mean steak), and the FO cutting his food with full elbows on the table as though the noodles were trying to escape alcatraz and he was the lone guard.
My meal was fucking epic and consisted of fresh-made spinach gnocchi with a bleu cheese creme sauce. IN MY MOUTH. I got a wine paired with it. It was delicious. The serving staff were amazing. The ambiance was nice. Awesome. I had an appetizer of a plate of perfectly-cut proscuitto and cantaloupe.
And then I just left. I knew I may have made someone angry very shortly if I didn't leave, and besides - I had things to do!
I headed over to Brooklyn, where I stopped in for a couple of drinks at a place called Banter. I had a beer called the Mad Scientist, which was a hoppy wheat beer, and loved it. I wanted to have a rhubarb tea cockatil, but I realized that Best Pizza, a pizza joint I've been meaning to try since December with Aaron, was closing in 30 minutes. I hightailed it out of there and managed to get myself a slice of bianca before they closed. Was it the best? No. I really prefer that little pizza joint I stumbled upon last I did an LGA layover. Tomorrow I may try to re-find it for lunch. Yum!
Following that, I sat around and drank a road beer on a back street in Williamsburg.
And now I'm going to bed.
Why do some people even bother?
We went to a place called Bianca in Greenwich Village on the recommendation of the captain. I know, and am completely aware, that not everyone is a foodie. But the chances of getting a whole freaking crew of people who went to a delicious restaurant and ordered chef's recommendations only to find out that these people don't actually like food?!
We're talking picking/scraping off truffles (I had a tiny bite of a girl's appetizer after she'd had a bite and liked it, and I commented on the delicate flavour of the truffles. She freaked out, assuming it was literally shit, and then once I told her to think of it as a mushroom, she freaked out more because she "hates mushrooms", which is dumb beacause she liked it. And she is 31.), poking a slice of proscuitto and then licking it and deciding it's gross (it's fucking bacon from a different part), and ordering a "rye and coke" at a fancy resto to go with your meal - receiving a wonderfully balanced mix of a 15-year rye that tastes spicy and intriguing and went with your meal and then making fun of it because it's "firewater" (aka, there is booze in there you can taste), the vegan refusing the pasta pomodoro she ordered because she insisted she ordered "spaghetti and tomato sauce" (pomodoro must mean steak), and the FO cutting his food with full elbows on the table as though the noodles were trying to escape alcatraz and he was the lone guard.
My meal was fucking epic and consisted of fresh-made spinach gnocchi with a bleu cheese creme sauce. IN MY MOUTH. I got a wine paired with it. It was delicious. The serving staff were amazing. The ambiance was nice. Awesome. I had an appetizer of a plate of perfectly-cut proscuitto and cantaloupe.
And then I just left. I knew I may have made someone angry very shortly if I didn't leave, and besides - I had things to do!
I headed over to Brooklyn, where I stopped in for a couple of drinks at a place called Banter. I had a beer called the Mad Scientist, which was a hoppy wheat beer, and loved it. I wanted to have a rhubarb tea cockatil, but I realized that Best Pizza, a pizza joint I've been meaning to try since December with Aaron, was closing in 30 minutes. I hightailed it out of there and managed to get myself a slice of bianca before they closed. Was it the best? No. I really prefer that little pizza joint I stumbled upon last I did an LGA layover. Tomorrow I may try to re-find it for lunch. Yum!
Following that, I sat around and drank a road beer on a back street in Williamsburg.
And now I'm going to bed.