Like all New Yorkers of a certain age, I love sushi. But recently, I’ve become a little suspicious that I’ve been eating it the wrong way.
And yes, it seems that there actually is a wrong way.
Well, lo and behold, I came uponthis article in the Toronto Star (by way of Slashfood), which proves that, in fact, I do not know the right way to eat sushi. And chances are, you don’t either.
I highly encourage you to check out this wrist-slapping etiquette piece, which uses a nifty diagram and an even niftier video of Chef Keiichi Masuda (of Mikado restaurant) to explain the right way to consume those oh-so-tasty nigiri. Here’s a quick summary:
Use your hands! At least, for the traditional-fish on-rice nigiri pieces. Chopsticks are still okay for rolls (maki).
The fish goes down! When dipping it into the soy sauce. Dipping the other way ruins the flavor of the rice.
The fish stays down! Introducing the fish to your tongue first keeps the flavors in the right order.
I’m certainly going to take this advice to heart. What about you?
What is it about meat-wrapped meat and other feats of artery-clogging art that so captures the imagination of the American public? I’m not sure, but you can certainly count me as one of the Gazers of the Grotesque.
Take, for instance, everything on this site: This is why you’re fat. I want to look away but I simply can’t. Every items is a culinary trainwreck – and just as dangerous.
Many such novelty foods use bacon in mass quantities. This is because 1. bacon is awesome and 2. bacon has become trendy. So trendy in fact that the inevitable backlash has begun.
The good people at Slate’s The Big Money place the blame squarely on the Old Gray Lady’s shoulders, and specifically this article about the Bacon Explosion (the monstrosity that took the interwebs by storm earlier this year).
I know it must seem as if my posts are regressing, but I found this pic in the archives and had to put it out for public consumption.
Similar to the creative wedding cookies I’ve previously shown, this 3D spider was from the Halloween party we attended. If I remember correctly, this is the anatomy:
I know you’ve all been eagerly awaiting the conclusion of the wine saga that started with this post.
Who am I kidding? No you’re not.
But in case you’re wondering how homemade Chardonnay turns out in the hands of two suburban retirees and their food-blogging son, that picture tells it all.
Although the darn thing wouldn’t clarify (even after many attempts at filtering) it went down fairly smoothly. I swear. It tasted like a decent white wine, despite its odd coloring.
And when you get down to it, wouldn’t you rather have a better tasting wine than a better looking wine? I thought so.
It’s the ultra-PC, non-offensive mascot from the Atlanta Olympics of 1996. He/she is named Izzy, short for Whatizit, which is an ironically unhip version of the question everybody would be asking: What is it?
Just as confusing was my visit to the Flirt Sushi Lounge in Allendale, New Jersey. And just as people scratched their heads when Izzy made its debut, I am at a profound loss in understanding this place. Here are some of its random qualities:
It serves sushi.
It looks like a brothel.
It plays Latin pop… loudly.
The rolls have names like “Big Balls” and “Viagra.”
The clientele is majority female.
What is the heck is going on here? Am I missing something or do none of these elements relate to each other?
I guess I just don’t get it.
The rolls were interesting and delicious. But still, they were not enough to distract me from the swirling weirdness that played out around me: slick-looking waiters, impressionable teenagers, lots of red and black.
And it’s BYOB.
Can anybody tell me what’s going on with this place? I’m dying to know.
Although everything was beautiful, the highlight of a recent wedding I attended was the endless amount of cookies. I can count at least 12 varieties in this picture alone, but there had to be more than 20 kinds continuously replenished at the dessert table all night.
It was truly a legendary feat by the mother and aunt of the bride, who must have been baking cookies for nearly a month. The only problem: sickness induced by washing down too many of these treats with open-bar alcohol. Ughhhhhhh.
