See ya!

IMG_4735-4As someone who has aaaalways believed in the restorative powers of autumn, I’m ok waving goodbye to summer while everyone else mourns the end of the season.

And what better way to say “till next year” than a drink called “See You in September?” The New York Distilling Company, one of my now new favorite neighborhood spots was where I found this tasty gem, a delicious mix of tequila, apple brandy, Luxardo Aperitivo, apricot, and lemon over a big cube of ice. On one of the unofficial last days of summer, a day that was muggy as all hell, sticky and unbearable, this drink was cold and soothing and everything I needed.

Cheers to summer and cheers to it being over. On this eve of September, I raise my delicious New York Distilling drink to everything that’s to come.

Beach bum tacos

The beach was nice, but I was there just as much for the tacos as the fun-in-the-sun.

The beach was nice, but I was there just as much for the tacos as the fun-in-the-sun.

I’ve lived in New York over five years now and have spent six summers in this city, and in all of that time, never once, up until last week, had I gone to the beach here. Crazy, right?

This year though, I finally decided to get my act together, throw on a bathing suit, and head to Rockaway Beach, the official beach of Brooklyn hipsters and cool kids alike.

However, dear reader, I have to tell you I’d be lying if I said I was entirely motivated by any desire to feel the sun baking my already brown skin while damn near naked in public. A stronger motivating factor was tacos. Delicious, summery tacos from Rockaway Taco, the small, whitewashed stand just a few blocks away from the beach that draws crowds just as much as the ocean does.

So, yes, I went to the beach and did the whole sun-and-sand thing but once that was done and crossed off the bucket list, I went and had tacos. After roasting in the sun for a few hours, first on my list was something cold, in the form of a fruity, refreshing pineapple and mint juice.  It took everything in me not to guzzle it in big, greedy gulps.

Pineapple-mint juice and tacos: perfection on a summer day.

Pineapple-mint juice and tacos: perfection on a summer day.

To go with it, I had two tacos, one fish and one chorizo.  The  fish taco had a plump, perfectly-golden-on-the-outside and tender-on-the-inside hunk of fried fish and a delicious spicy mayo type sauce that I licked off my fingers like a gross little animal. The chorizo taco, topped with thinly sliced radish and zesty cilantro like the fish taco, was juicy and flavorful, and consequently gone in just a few bites.

Rockaway Taco was the perfect end to a fun, relaxing summer beach day that I should’ve had dozens of times already and not just once. Guess that means that as the summer quickly starts to wind down, I’ll have to make up for lost time and squeeze in as many trips as I can to Rockaway Taco… and the beach, of course.

Cheese and whine

For as long as I can remember, I’ve struggled with summers. On top of absolutely loathing the hot, sticky weather that comes with the season, it’s always seemed to be the time when crappy things happened in my life.

As a kid, summer was when my best friend went away to her family’s beach house and my other friends took off for vacations, summer camps and fun things. Some years, I was stuck miserably at home, and others I was forced by my dad to go to summer school, an experience which plunged me into all new levels of awful.

In more recent years, my worst heartbreaks have been during summer and with them my ugliest hangovers. Un-airconditioned apartments, steamy subway platforms, and the disgusting cockroaches that come out to terrorize me haven’t helped either.

So why all the whining and complaining? Well, basically to explain that this summer, while it’s had its very high highs, has also brought its share of blues. I’ve been in a funk and haven’t really felt like dishing about what I’ve been eating. I’m moody, don’t hold it against me. But I realize it’s silly and dumb to act this way, so I’m getting over it, especially since New York has had one of the coolest summers on record (definitely the most pleasant weather-wise in the five years I’ve lived here) and that’s reason enough for me to be happy.

So yea, sorry I’ve been away. I’m retiring my Lana Del Rey summer anthem and instead going back to bombarding you all with stories of ridiculous things eaten and a million and one popsicles made. I promise. You wait and see.

Love and happiness… and goat

Here’s a little fun fact about me: I love weddings.

Another fun fact: I loooove vacations.

And you know what I really, really love? Destination weddings! Cause BAM! You get a two in one combo of things I love!

So when my good friend/coworker Vilmarie announced she was  getting married in the Dominican Republic, where her family is from, I verbally RSVP’d monts before she even sent out her save-the-dates. Wedding, out-of-town trip, friends, fun, DONE. I’m there.

And as I expected, it was loads of fun. We went rafting, saw waterfalls, ate mangoes straight off the tree, laughed till we cried,  made new friends and cemented old friendships, danced like fools (or maybe that was just me), got misty-eyed during the ceremony, and for the purposes of this blog: ate a ton of delicious Dominican food.

But of all the tasty eats I had, without a doubt my absolute favorite was the traditional plate of chivo con tostones I devoured at the beautiful Jamaca de Dios, a restaurant nestled high up in the hills, overlooking lush Jarabacoa.

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Weddings are about love, and I love this goat.

Chivo, or goat, might not sound appealing to some, and the three other people at my table looked at me with that slightly skeptical look I should be used to by now, but let me tell you, when everything came out and everyone’s dishes were tasted, mine was the one to garner all of the food envy. The goat, similar in texture to stewed beef, was cooked in a rich, red wine sauce with peas and red peppers, and was so unbelievable soft and tender that each bite was a little cloud of meaty deliciousness. The tostones, crunchy, salty golden plantains, fried and flattened, were a great complement in texture and taste.

I’ll always remember Vil’s wedding as the beautiful celebration of love, family and friendship that it was, but in the back of my mind I’ll also think fondly of that delicious goat.

Fat me and The Fat Elvis

Sometimes, when I’m bad, I’m really bad. And when a trusted source recommended I try The Fat Elvis burger at Atlanta’s Vortex Bar and Grill a towering behemoth of a burger topped with peanut butter, bacon and fried bananas I knew it was time to throw caution to the wind and be very freakin’ bad.

The Fat Elvis

The Fat Elvis

The Fat Elvis, ever so appropriately named after the King in his later years when he was known to wolf down peanut butter, banana and bacon sandwiches, is as serious as the heart attack it’ll cause you if you eat too many in one lifetime. It’s a massive beast, definitely not for the faint of heart and certainly not for anyone with a delicate stomach. My sister seemed mildly disgusted by the idea and and when it showed up at our table, on a plate filled with tater tots (Cause what, was I supposed to get a salad to go with it?) she just looked appalled.

You have to bring your A game when ordering this bad boy.

You have to bring your A game when ordering this bad boy.

Sandwiched between two doughy, soft buns was a big ol’ hunk, a hunk of juicy beef (See what I did there?) cooked to just the most perfect tender pinkness, smeared thick with a melty, creamy peanut butter, deliciously soft, sweet fried bananas, and everyone’s favorite: thick, wavy, glistening strips of bacon. Clearly, there was no neat, civilized way to eat this thing. It oozed peanut butter out one end and all sorts of juices out the other. It was messy and obscene, a crazy mix of flavors and textures, and absolutely delicious in all the worst ways.

Will the Fat Elvis be filed under sensible meals or healthy living options? Nope, not ever. But like so many things that are bad for you, it was damn good.

Side note: in case you were wondering, my sister ordered a burger topped with a heap of blue cheese spread, which isn’t something I’m totally crazy about so no, there are no pictures. My attention was completely devoted to The Fat Elvis. Nothing else.

Mary Mac's Tea Room on Urbanspoon

A whole lot of comforting

My sister and I are separated by roughly 1,200 miles (1,276.3 if you ask Google) and because I have a slight aversion to Miami, where she still lives, and she’s been to New York a bunch of times, we thought we should get together in a whole new city.

Our requirements were that our destination be no more than a couple of hours away by plane, have fun things to do (the younger De Angelis isn’t one for poolside lounging or beach bumming) and have lots of good food. So off we went to Atlanta, to do our sister bonding with a side of southern comfort.

Many a calorie was consumed by way of fried, butter-laden southern specialties, but we both agreed the best meal of the trip (though possibly the worst for our waistlines) was at Mary Mac’s Tea Room, the kind of bright, sunny restaurant that fills up with bustling families and church ladies in their Sunday best, all packed in for heaping plates of artery-clogging southern goodness and tall glasses of sweet tea.

Plain table bread? Psshh, not here, folks!

Plain table bread? Psshh, not here, folks!

Right out of the gate, Mary Mac’s starts you off with a basket of sweet morning buns and cornbread in place of regular ol’ bread. Morning buns, with their sweet cinnamon bun-like swirl of brown sugar, were an interesting way to start things off, almost dessert-y and a nice complement to the more savory butter-slathered cornbread.

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Oh you know, just a little light lunch.

While the options were many, with seemingly endless combinations of carbs on carbs on carbs, I went with the shrimp and cheese grits with fried green tomatoes and my all-time favorite, sweet potato soufflé, as sides. The cheese grits were all of the creamy, buttery, cheesy perfection I needed them to be, with fat, juicy shrimp plopped on top, and the fried green tomatoes, tangy and juicy inside their crunchy, battered shells were the ideal companion. But by and far, my heart was won over by the sweet potato soufflé, all creamy and smooth, caramelized marshmallow sitting on top like a dream.

Fried chicken, dumplings and mac and cheese...trifecta of deliciousness.

Fried chicken, dumplings and mac and cheese…trifecta of deliciousness.

The other De Angelis went with fried chicken (because really, when in Rome…), mac and cheese and dumplings. The chicken, a giant, hulking affair of crispy, crunchy skin and tender white meat paired well with the softer, creamier sides. The dumplings, thick and soupy in their gravy like sauce were like the ooey, gooey, cheesey mac and cheese in rich, over the top southern goodness.

Peach cobbler, cause there's always room for something sweet.

Peach cobbler, cause there’s always room for something sweet.

Finally, even with all of that in our systems, we squeezed in dessert: a shared portion of Georgia peach cobbler. Unlike the cobbler I ate in bed back at the hotel, this one was all fruit, no crust. It was good, the stewed, spiced peaches soft and warm, but definitely could’ve used at least a little bit of ice cream. Cause hell, after you’ve had that many calories, what’s another couple hundred?

We left completely stuffed, ready for deep, long naps, and happily bordering on discomfort by the amount of good ol’ Georgia comfort food we put back.

Mary Mac's Tea Room on Urbanspoon

Alive and well…fed

I’m back! Here I mean. Back to blogging!

I did that thing where I kind of disappear from the ol’ bloggity blog and keep thinking about how I need to get back to it, and then I just keep procrastinating, and stockpiling food pics, and  feeling bad about not writing and then BAM! I get my act together and I come back.

So yea, here I am.

So where’ve I been? Oh, around. Getting properly settled into my new apartment, working, hosting out of town friends, spending a weekend in Atlanta with my sister, and most recently, traveling to the Dominican Republic for a good friend’s destination wedding. All of that with the usual gallivanting in between.

Peach cobbler? Good. Peach cobbler in bed? Great!

Peach cobbler? Good. Peach cobbler in bed? Great!

I’ll get into more detail about ATL and the DR over the next few days, cause I did some really good grubbing in both, but for now I’ll leave you with a snap of the freakin’ delicious peach cobbler a la mode I had in Atlanta. Not only was it perfectly warm and gooey on the inside with a delicious crumbly streusel top and a fat scoop of vanilla ice cream, but it was a thousand times more decadently delicious cause I ate it in bed, in my PJs, with my feet propped up while watching Wedding Crashers in my hotel room.

Absolutely freakin’ delicious, like so many nights I’ve had in the time I’ve been away. Wait till I tell you all about ‘em.