It Is Our Time.

The current economic climate has its bad points. For example, people have less money. However, this situation is not just a potential cesspool for the breeding of bigotry and irrational mob thinking -- it also fortunately lends itself to restaurant adventures with great food and low(er) prices. See this article in Zagat Buzz which focuses on Matthieu Palombino of Motorino:

http://www.zagat.com/Blog/Detail.aspx?SNP=NNYC&SCID=40&BLGID=22525&zagatbuzzid=july09week5

I'll posit the idea that the Fressenwagen itself is particularly in tune with the zeitgeist. For example, this is a time which demands a sense of humor -- and we are funny (some of us more than others...no names mentioned). It is an era in which our celebrity-focus has rendered us more superficial and focused on appearances -- and we are attractive (some of us...see previous parenthetical). We are contemplative and self-aware, in a self-deprecating and yet not 1990s "Reality Bites" uber-ironic kind of way. We are even eco-friendly. Okay, fine, we use an SUV rather than public transport...picky, picky!!...but in fairness, we try to squeeze as many people as possible inside said vehicle. Kind of like a clown car, but with less frightening content.

Okay, of course, if it was REALLY in tune with the zeitgeist, I'd have figured out a good way to make cold hard cash off this thing by now.

The time has come, the walrus said, to talk of other things. It is time to discuss our next adventure, most likely for the end of August. I'd even be willing to do two in a row, because I like you guys. Some of you more than others. No names mentioned.

S. proposed authentic Greek in Astoria; J. has posited Italian/pizza in the Bronx or Chinese in Queens. And I'm going to put two other options on the table. The first is Enoteca Maria, a 35-seat place in Staten Island with no chef, just a rotating cast of Italian grandmothers.

http://www.enotecamaria.com/wp/

I've had two great experiences with Kampuchea, which is one of (to my knowledge) two Cambodian restaurants in New York City. Kampuchea is on the Lower East Side; their website is www.kampucheanyc.com. The only other Cambodian restaurant I know of in NYC is in Fort Greene. I went there a few years ago but it simply cannot compare with Kampuchea, which is great summer fare, open-air long-table seating and an interesting beer list.

An aspiring Fresser (?) sent me the following list:

1. Brighton Beach for Russian food. [note: this has been suggested by long-term Fresser E. as well]

2. Beer gardens in Long Island City, Queens (Studio Square) or Williamsburg, Brooklyn (Radegast Hall & Biergarten).

3. Also we could make a longer day of it and see the minor league Staten Island Yankees, followed by or preceeded by a meal at Sunshine Sri Lankan Restaurant: 3 Corson Avenue (Victory Blvd), New Brighton, Staten Island.

4. Barbecue! Daisy May's on 46th Street and 11th Avenue in Manhattan is a personal favorite.

5. Dumplings in Chinatown or Flushing Queens (the challenge is if there is enough veggie stuff without pork, that may be tricky...)

6. Locanda Verde (Robert DeNiro's new place in Tribeca). [note: I've wanted to try this one as well.]

7. Arepa Arepa, Willamsburg, Brooklyn - tasty Venezuelan sandwiches (kosher-friendly) and we could combine this with the beergarden (#2) for an adventure.

I'll keep thinking. Motorino was inspired, wish I had been able to make it.

I like his spunk. I also like the characterization of my choice of eatery as "inspired." Ass kissing will get you far, my friend.

To make it clear, there is no limit on the amount of destinations you can suggest. I'd also like to posit that our limits should be economic rather than geographic. That is to say, "outer borough" can be a euphemism for "comparatively inexpensive."

BRING IT, people. Fress on.

Motorino. We Came. We Ate. And Then We Ate More.

A friend of Liz Gilbert's in her bestseller Eat, Pray, Love, remarked that her trip to Italy was Gilbert's own personal "No Carb Left Behind" tour. Whatever carbs may have been left behind, fear not: we found them at Motorino and consumed them. And those that we didn't, well, we took those babies home. No carb should be left unattended. That's, like, a life-principle. Since one of us finished the NYC Triathlon that very morning, we all had to carbo-load. (As one participant remarked, she considered this dinner the third leg of her own triathlon: mani, pedi, pizza.) Armed with that flawless logic, we braved the storm/beautiful weather/storm/hail/humidity/lightning in the name of grub. One more, in the name of grub. Okay, I'll stop now.

This was the biggest Fressenvagen field trip yet. Numerically, we were approaching 20. Geographically, people had come from as far afield as South Africa, Mexico, Philadelphia, New Jersey and Westchester to join the merry band (poetic license, people!!!). All who were hungry came and ate. And ate.

Our group arrived so hungry -- whether due to athletic accomplishments, timing or deliberately having starved themselves -- that some contemplated eating the small, strange plants on the table (see left foreground of picture). They refrained. Joe, who helped me arrange the menu and the reservation, was nothing short of heroic.

Quickly, the food arrived in a veritable deluge. We had a chef-selected prix fixe menu, and one of the first things out of the gate was the bread.

Oh, the amazing bread! In my opinion, the crust is what really made the pizza here transcendent, and the bread was basically that crust in all its heaven-sent glory. Spongy goodness. I felt like bringing out the bread first was sort of like a guy pulling up to a first date in a brand-spanking new Ferrari: it's a little much, but hell, show it off if you got it, baby!

I'm really not the best person to be writing this part as I did not sample from the charcuterie or whatever you call a plate of magazine-photograph-worthy pink and rose veined meats. The salads were good, not over the moon good, but good.

Let's skip ahead to the pizzas, shall we? Ahead ahead, as in to this morning, the day after this event, when I consumed my personal box of pizza pleasure for breakfast and lunch. Delicious cold, I might add, as well as hot. And even now, as I sit, I fantasize about that crust. The naan analogy which other writers have made fails: this is in a class by itself. It's charcoaly without it being too much, it's pillow-like without being Pillsbury, it's thin and thick eerily exactly where it should be.The closest simile I can draw to the crust is getting back to the first date analogy. I am thinking about this crust the way you think about an amazing first kiss. You think, "Wow, that was fantastic." You try to reimagine it and its attendant sensations. And then you think, "I'd like some more, please." Sigh.

At one point, which I'll call The Tipping Point, the numbers of pizzas approaching our table made the jump from Plenty to Parody. I felt a little like Lucy, except rather than a conveyor belt line with chocolates, it was a conveyor belt of endless amazing pizzas. The analogy also fails because I was not required to wear a poufy hat. How anyone else in the place got served besides us is utterly beyond me.

There was so much food that it was almost too overwhelming, if such a thing is possible. See, here's the thing: when you consume such an insane amount of food, at a certain point, your vision actually becomes blurred. You wonder: will I actually have a heart attack here? Who will drive my friends home?

After all the leftover pizzas were boxed for ease of transport, it became apparent that it was not over: yes, there was still dessert coming! Phew, what a relief THAT was. As the desserts were placed before us on the table, they were greeted by groans, sighs and expressions of fleeting horror. Fortunately, no one in this group had any shame, and most had worn expandable items of clothing.

The desserts are really way better than they need to be at a place where only the most obscenely non-self-conscious patrons (see above photograph) would indulge after a meal. Most agreed that the tiramisu, in particular, was awesome.

"I would swim in that strawberry soup if I could, it was so refreshing and delicious!," one eater remarked in a post-game e-mail. I totally agree...and have to admit that, in light of just how much food we were plied with, I'm a little taken aback that that wasn't an option. But perhaps it is just as well. As said eater continued to note, "all the dough I consumed last night would likely weigh me down and I would drown. At least I'd go down happy and content!" she concluded.

Maybe we could get those guys who were playing the violins on the Titanic when it went down...no, wait, they are probably not available. Why do people always play violins when the sh*t starts to hit the fan, by the way? Without even trying too hard, the following examples immediately leap to mind: 1. The Titanic. 2. Rome burning, Nero fiddling. 3. Shriek-y violins in Psycho. Yet the sound of schmaltzy violins generally accompanies being overcome by love, kisses or passionate emotion...which I'm loath to equate with disaster. Whoa, tangent.

If there were a soundtrack for this meal, what would be on it? Suggestions actively solicited.

“Too much of a good thing can be wonderful.” Mae West

Sweet Lord, I'm full. More tomorrow. Time to see what one dreams about after consuming 20 pounds of food.

Dough Hits The Fan

Intrigue in the world of power pizzas.

http://newyork.grubstreet.com/2009/07/anthony_mangieri_closes_una_pi.html

Pre-Fressenvagen Musings, a.k.a. Homework

So our next jaunt is going to be Motorino, pizza palace extraordinaire, which I was all kinds of psyched about. Am all kinds of psyched about. Just bear with me.

I'm wandering around the kitchen, thinking my usual assortment of profound thoughts. At that particular point in time, these were a convoluted combination of a) "Holy cow, changing the Diaspora Museum in Tel Aviv to a place that views the Diaspora as being on par with Israel is a total narrative game-changer, and has tremendous implications for the modern forecast for Zionism." b) "Why was the coffee I had last night so much better than any coffee I have had any other day? And why did I drink coffee at 10:30 p.m.?" and c) "I'm hungry."

As I wait for the barbecue to heat up to start grilling some chicken, I look at the pile of magazines my mother has stolen/"borrowed" from the waiting room at the doctor's office ("When's your next appointment?" "Sometime next year. Why do you ask?" "No reason."). The Jackpot of the Waiting Room: I see New York Magazine, with some extremely tasty looking pizzas on its cover. After I briefly wonder about food photography -- you know, how that creamy fresh, milky mozzarella you're looking at is probably congealed Elmer's, etc. -- I flip it open to The Top 20 Pizzas Of The Moment.

Ah, the top 20 pizzas of the moment according to two random people I've never met. I have to admit that I was vaguely annoyed to imagine said writers high-fiving each other over pizzas and beer and saying things like "Dude, we have the BEST JOB EVER."

Although in fairness, journalism is one of the best jobs ever, when it actually pays and you get to do fun stuff (Exhibit A: Me, 7 months pregnant, getting the magazine assignment of "Find The Best Pregnancy Massage In Philadelphia." Sweet!). But let's move on from my I-don't-get-paid-to-eat-kickass-pizza bitterness.

According to the list, Motorino is number 8. Still in the top ten, but by the skin of its cheese.

http://nymag.com/restaurants/cheapeats/2009/57893/

I can only conclude that we are sort of obligated to go to at least 2 of the top 5 in the next year.

We have much work to do, my friends. Miles to go before we sleep.

Willkommen, Bienvenue, Welcome!!

There are those who say that there is nothing new under the sun. Ecclesiastes, for one. But the Internet is a venue in which people can attempt to disprove that idea, and fail miserably.

"Why don't I blog about cat pregnancy?"

"The whole world wants to hear my thoughts about being a suburban mom!"

"I'm REALLY funny, so maybe I should post my lame attempts at humor! LOL!"

But who am I...nay, who are we, dear readers, to say that we are beyond such omphaloskepsis? No, we are like you. We are random people -- writers, clergymen, lawyers, finance people, blah blah blah -- who have been carefully selected for outer-borough food journeys in one suburban mother's ostentatiously large SUV.

We go.

We eat.

We will report back.

You will probably not care.