All posts filed under: Eat

Sparkling Wine on blue background

Warm Weather Bubbles

When temps start to creep up, I’m definitely fucking heavy with whites, and if you know anything about me, you’d know that I’d prefer it, shall we say, jazzy. Sauntering over to my wine rack today, I found the right bottle, Francois Chidaine’s traditional method sparkling wine.

Underwood Typewriter

Done is Better than Perfect

I’ve been sitting on this blog now for eight months. Eight months of generating ideas, practicing my photography, cooking meal after meal, waiting for “the right time” to post… And what do I have to show for it? Eight months of a blank blog taking up all-too-common Internet space, gathering dust. I’ve been racked with the guilt of the lazy and the restless. I battled myself over what I thought this space should be, trying to define its purpose, how to make it “different” from everything else that’s out there, but in the end, I did nothing. Until now. Done is better than perfect, and with that, I will enter the wide (and admittedly saturated) world of words and food and drink and travel and just do the damn thing. …Big breath… and jump.

16 Lessons I’ve Learned After 4 Years in New York

I’ve made it something of a regular occurrence to post anniversary checkins every year at August 15, but this year, my fourth anniversary as a New Yorker came and went. Rather than a long winded essay—as is my wont—I thought it’d be appropriate to post some lessons I’ve learned so far. (Hashtag basic, amirite?) I posted a version of this on my Facebook, so apologies for the repetition. Without further ado: It’s ok to cry on the street. It’s even better to cry in an ATM vestibule. Let your account balance be your guide. If you believe a cab is a quicker way from Point A to Point B, you WILL get stuck in traffic. More money makes it easier to live here, yes, but don’t underestimate the restorative power of a walk through Central Park while eating a plain slice. New Yorkers are a lot nicer than their reputation belies. Except the Times Square Cookie Monster. He’s an asshole. Never tell a cabbie where you’re going until your ass is firmly in seat. Until then, …

Escape from New York: Long Island

  There we were, just wandering through Greenport, Long Island, looking for oysters and wine, when we stumbled upon this buzzy little shack upon the waterfront. Oysters? Check. Wine? You betcha. Owned and operated by Little Creek Oyster Farm, this little bait and tackle shop was the wheelhouse of a whaling ship in a past life before being brought to shore. Sitting mostly empty for the last few years, its current iteration is bright, laid-back and personality-filled as the headquarters and shipping center for the oyster producer. As soon as our group walked in, we were greeted with, “Are you my gin-and-tonic people?” Turns out the girl behind the counter was mine and Fiona’s regular server when we used to frequent Two Boots in Grand Central Station for a post-work happy hour drink! It was a pleasant surprise to run into her so far from New York; she recently moved to Greenport toescape city life, and who can blame her? The village, with its waterfront and smattering of shops and restaurants, is at once charming, welcoming and relaxed. …

Escape from New York: Hudson, NY

It was just another one of those weekends when Ian and I had nothing on the books, but our need to leave the city was overwhelming. Adventure, or something like it, was calling. Hudson, NY is by no means an exotic getaway, but it promised some respite from the urban grind. Just two hours via Amtrak from Penn Station, we both knew nothing about it except the direction we needed to head: North. Oh, and rumblings that Hudson and the surrounding region are the “new Brooklyn,” whatever that means. We traded a sky that threatened rain for the verdant expanse of the Hudson River Valley.  The train ride up was pleasant enough, made all the more pleasant with gentle pop of a Matthiasson rosé, as crisp as the sky we traveled under. Between sips of wine and glances of the sweeping views, we were lulled into many micro catnaps, arriving at our destination just in time for lunch, rested AF. The red train station greeted us as we began a short walk to Warren Street, …

Message in a Bottle: “Dude, It’s Rosé Season”

Some times, you want to wander through Brooklyn on a gorgeous spring Sunday, call up one of your favorite people and share a bottle of wine at the hot neighborhood wine bar. All this before heading to said friend’s place to gorge on a large pizza and scream-chew through Game of Thrones. It’s all good, so long as the bottle you’ve fortified yourself with is Broc Wine’s rose-gold Cassia Grenache 2013 Mendocino Rosé. ‘Tis the season, after all. Gotta drink it up before the Hamptons get to it. And there’s no better place to do it than June Wine Bar in Cobble Hill. Delicately floral and bright, the Broc has the soft touch one needs before an hour of teeth-grindingly brutal television. (Pro-tip: While at June, avoid the disapproving gaze of newly minted helicopter moms by steering clear of your bluer haha-material. And don’t trip on the strollers.)

Homesick for Mama’s Cooking: Filipino Garlic Rice

Like other Filipino boys growing up, my brothers and I would wake up on Saturday mornings to the sound of spitting oil and the hiss of garlic, a pungent cloud of hot allium filling the house. It was instinctual: Mom was thirty seconds from adding the last night’s rice to the pan. A minute or so after that, three ravenous little boys eager for grade-A cartoon time would descend on our poor mother, noisily feasting on garlic-studded rice heaps, crowned with an olive-oil fried egg and Jufran banana ketchup, a staple of Pinoy kitchens. We’d make short order of breakfast like locusts plaguing Egypt, before holing up with our Gameboys and TV for the rest of the morning. Dishes could wait. Growing up, rice was available at every meal. For Mom, rice reaches levels beyond comfort food. Even if pasta graced the table, she’d still make a pot, anticipating her garlicky breakfast the next morning. Rice was mixed into pancit (stir-fried rice noodles—more rice!), accompanied lumpia (rice-paper wrapped egg rolls!) and spooned over adobo chicken …

How to Make a French 75

Light, elegant and über-refreshing, the French 75 is the classic cocktail you should be sipping all Spring and Summer. As cocktails go, I love me a boozy fizzy lifting drink, and few are as classic as the French 75. Like all classic cocktails, it’s history is mired in murk and hearsay, but most people agree that it was likely invented in its current iteration 1927, at the height of Prohibition. According to Liquor.com, though, the drink may have roots as far back as 1867, when Charles Dickens would sip a drink called the Champagne cup with a boost of Tom gin. And of course, nothing is new under the sun: adding gin to bubbly (plus citrus and sugar) ain’t really all that creative, but it sure as hell is delicious! 

#EmptyMet Tour: Asses of Antiquity

I got to do a fun thing yesterday: explore the Metropolitan Museum of Art, but after dark! I was invited by the Yahoo! Travel team to join a ragtag group of bloggers, travel media and the odd reality TV star to case tour the joint alongside one of the original social media gurus, Sree Sreenivasan, formerly of Columbia University and now the museum’s Chief Digital Officer. I was invited a few weeks ago, so leading up to the day, I was pumped! Who doesn’t want to explore the Met without anyone else around? I had done something similar ages ago, at the Natural History Museum, so my expectations were set a little high. That particular visit was rife with demos, behind-the-scenes looks at exhibition creation, in-depth Q&As, and hey, even a little wine. What a treat! This wasn’t that.