Food From a Truck, Part Two

Now, the Treats Truck.  No disrespect to the dumpling truck, but there's really no competing with the Treats Truck.  As you can see from Erik's Top Ten Foods list below, the Treats truck has much to offer.

1.  Cookies (Treats Truck)

2.  Cookie Sandwiches (Treats Truck)

3.  Brownies (Treats Truck)

4.  Rice Krispie Treats (Treats Truck)

5.  Macaroni & Cheese (Haven't found that truck yet)

6.  Cupcakes baked into ice cream cones (Treats Truck)

7.  Pizza (Doesn't need a truck)

8.  Dumplings (Dumpling Truck)

9.  Lemon Bars (Treats Truck)

10. Edamame (Dumpling Truck)

Evidently, the Treats Truck is named "Sugar".  Sugar runs on compressed natural gas, so he is friendly to the environment.  Speaking of friendly, the Treats Truck lady (Kim Ima) is really nice.  

It's a truck.  Full of cookies.  The love-child of Henry Ford and Otis Spunkmeyer.

It's a truck.  Full of cookies.  Where do I get that driver's license?

It's a truck.  Full of cookies.  Hit the milk truck!  Hit the milk truck!

It's a truck.  Full of cookies.  No, YOU ride shotgun!

It's a truck.  Full of cookies.  Check the doughdometer.

It's a truck.  Full of cookies.  But without the kidnapper this time!

It's a truck.  Full of cookies.  What ice cream trucks want to be when they grow up.

It's a truck.  Full of cookies.  More than 100 smiles per gallon.  

It's a truck.  Full of cookies.  Like me, except I'm not a truck.

It's a truck.  Full of cookies.  Rocky road trip!

It's a truck.  Full of cookies.  A three-door batchback.

It's a truck.  Full of cookies.  A three-door hatchbake.

It's a truck.  Full of cookies.  And it's my dream car.

Food From a Truck, Part One

Since there aren't enough ways to eat food on the street of NYC - hot dog stands, Halal food vendors, the soup man, pretzel guys, knish carts, ice cream stands, the roasted nut dude, kabob guys, the gyro cart, smoothie stands, et al - we also have a variety of "food trucks".  As fate would have it, two of those trucks managed to park themselves in front of Erik's office building this week. . .

First, the "Rickshaw Dumpling Bar" dumpling truck. . .

It's a truck.  Full of dumplings.  "Dump-Truck" for short.

It's a truck.  Full of dumplings.  Runs on a steamed engine.

It's a truck.  Full of dumplings.  Better MSG than MPG.

It's a truck.  Full of dumplings.  You know it's not a Chevy.

It's a truck.  Full of dumplings.  You know it's not a Ford.

It's a truck.  Full of dumplings.  Has an automatic trans(fats)mission.

It's a truck.  Full of dumplings.  A fork in the road?  Nope, a chopstick.

It's a truck.  Full of dumplings.  Bigger than a won-ton pickup.

It's a truck.  Full of dumplings.  Lead in the paint, not in the gas.

It's a truck.  Full of dumplings.  Handles gingerly.  And sesame-ly.

It's a truck.  Full of dumplings.  Complete with license plates and napkins.

It's a truck.  Full of dumplings.  And, for the record, the food was great.

And, on an unrelated note, congrats to us for our 50th blog post.  Thanks to our seven readers for your loyal readership.

Putting a new spin on Frisbee®. . .

In the long history of flying disc sports, there's never been an athlete quite like Katy. She combines the grace of a gymnast, the facial expressions of Jim Carrey, and the hops of Michael Jordan to create a sport that is at once beautful and comical.

For reference, here's what normal Frisbee®-playing looks like. . .

Now, here are some moves Katy has invented. First the "no-catch roundoff".Next, the "split-leap, kiss-my-own-arm, two-handed grab". Now, the "self-tail-kicking, afraid-of-the-disc, two-handed grab". Next, the "straddle-jump, eyes-closed, two-handed snag".
Next, the "where's-the-trampoline Hurkey, two-finger grab".
Next, the "split-leap, jump-three-feet-over-the-disc, smiling non-catch".
Next, the "I'm-glad-I'm-not-a-guy-but-I'm-making-a-face-like-I-am-given-where-this-disc-is-about-to-hit-me-non-catch".
Next, the "tongue-in-cheek, waving-at-my-fans, Flying Flamingo catch".
Next, the "what-does-the-bottom-of-my-shoe-say?, whoops-there's-a-tree move".
Next, the "one-foot-planted, one-foot-flying, straining-face-no-chance-for-a-catch".
Here, Paul's showing off his "look how casual I am reading the newspaper while leaning up against a tree" move, while Erik demonstrates how to catch a flying disc without making faces or pulling one's groin.
For the record, Katy can actually throw a Frisbee®, though it's far less comical.

Where's she going? That's her in the white shirt. . .evidently running to New Jersey.

Plagiarism??? The Outrage!!!

New York City is a 'wicked cool' place to visit (as we say in the northeast), so off Jeannie and Paul went for a big city adventure, oh yeah, and to celebrate their 15th anniversary!  Of course, it was an immense help for them to have us here to act as their tour guides and generally to keep them out of trouble.  This worked for the most part, with a few minor exceptions when left to their own devices. . .especially when it came to subway navigation.  They only ended up in Queens once and Harlem once. . .OK, twice - but miraculously they always found their way back!  Finding their hotel was relatively easy, as it was across the street from the Empire State Building!

First, let me just say that the food choices in NY are overwhelming, unlike the culinary wasteland they have there in the mountains of Eastern Tennessee.  Coal-fired pizza, 'street meat', Chinatown Chinese, Koreatown Korean, Little Italy Italian, gourmet everything. . .restaurants dedicated to one specialty, i.e., Rice to Riches (nothing but rice pudding!), Empanada Mama (yup, all empanadas), and cupcake stores galore!  It was pure heaven for them.  They ate their way from the financial district all the way to the Upper East Side - more than once.  Burp.  Their top honors go to mine and Katy's steakhouse on 71st Street with our melt-in-your mouth filets followed by Brooklyn Blackout fudge cake. . .fantastic!

There is simply too much to do in New York - and they did a lot!  They can not possibly begin to tell you all of the ground that they covered, so here are a few of their favorites from this trip:

* Museum of Natural History - incredible exhibits, huge, overwhelming. . .they could have spent weeks here but had to settle for a few hours of appreciation.  Then their brains were full.  Paul finally found the elusive moose he had spent the summer searching for in Colorado.

* Central Park - picnics with a few hundred thousand close friends, NFL kickoff concert with Keith Urban, Duke softball tournament, and K&E frisbee freestyle olympics!

* NY Public Library - this should be one of the seven wonders of the world!  Jeannie's favorite place in all of New York, hands down.

* Brooklyn Bridge - the South Street Seaport on one side, Bodies exhibit (gross), a brisk walk across the bridge, and Grimaldi's Pizza on the other side.  How can life get any better?

* Staten Island Ferry - mesmerizing views which encompass the Manhattan skyline, Brooklyn, Ellis Island, and the powerful Statue of Liberty.  Pictures don't do it justice.

* Hudson Boat Basin & Riverside Park - a uniquely designed area where they spent many hours walkin, and walking, and walking. . .they sure were thirsty when they got to the restaurant!

* Financial District, Wall Street, NY Stock Exchange - who knew that this would become the center of world news for the past couple of weeks?!  "We were there!" is what they say every day when the news begins.

* Washington Square Park & Greenwich Village - or, if you live here, like we do, it is just 'the Village'.  Very eclectic, cool, unique, trendy. . .just like Jeannie and Paul!  (stop laughing)  

* Chinatown & Little Italy - unique, fun neighborhoods to wander the streets.  And eat.  And eat some more.  Burp.  And wander the streets.  And eat.

* Times Square & ABC Studios - Good Morning America - this was probably worth Jeannie dragging herself out of bed before dawn to stand in line to get int he studio audience to watch the early morning news to get a photo op with famous people. . .probably.

* World Trade Center / Ground Zero - Jeannie and Paul visited this exact location three months after 9/11.  Although the construction has begun and the area is undergoing development and rebirth, the feelings of sadness, loss and heartache are as strong now as they were 7 years ago.

* My office building!!  Somewhere waaaay up there is where I work.  They don't know what I do.  They don't have a clue.  I have patiently explained it to them a dozen different ways. . .they still don't know what I do.  But I met them for lunch several times, introduced them to 'street meat', Bryant Park, Margon (Cuban lunch counter), and Junior's!  They think that is my job - finding great places for lunch.  And something to do with investors.

"Thank you New York!!  Happy Trails.", they would like to say.

Can you believe the folks at this other blog would commit blog plagiarism???

Finally, we've found a good use for coal!

This story goes all the way back to our time in Steamboat.  One day, while waiting for our beautiful, angelic wives (ahem) to get ready, Paul and I lounged on the couch of our condo and watched The Learning Channel.  Because that's what we do, Paul and I, we learn.  Sponges of knowledge.  Sponges with beautiful wives.  It's a charmed life.

We watched an hour-long special on coal-fired pizza in New York City.  Then and there, the hamster in Paul's head started running really fast on its exercise wheel.  The twelve-watt bulb above Erik's head flickered on.

A few days after we all parted ways in Steamboat, Paul turned to his beautiful wife and said, "Dear, I have a plan.  A good plan.  We will go to New York City, and there we will embark on a pizza tour!"  And so they did.

Jeannie (aka Mom) and Paul traveled to New York City, and with their fearless guides (Erik and Katy), they found coal-fired pizza.  They found it first at Totonno's.  They found it again at Grimaldi's.  They thought about finding more, but something about "clogged arteries" told them not to.

So, to the point.  Coal-fired pizza is really good.  Really, really good.  Everyone's had "brick oven pizza" or "wood-fired pizza" or "frozen pizza" or "cold pizza" or "leftover pizza" or "delivery pizza" or "pizza rolls" or "pizza pockets" or "bagel bites" or "pizza flavored dog treats."  But there are only a handful of places where you can get actual coal-fired pizza.  Why?  Because burning coal inside probably isn't that safe or healthy.  In fact, it's actually illegal in New York City, save for the few places that have been doing it long enough to be grandfathered in.

Why is coal-fired pizza so good?  Theories abound.  Maybe it's the super-intense heat.  Maybe it's the short cooking time.  Maybe it's the slightly-charred edges.  Maybe it's just made with better ingredients.  Maybe it's more expensive, making it seem better.  Maybe she's born with it.  Maybe it's Maybelline.

My theory?  I think it's the dusting of carcinogenic ash that comes free with every pizza.

After completing two important legs of the New York City Coal-Fired Pizza Tour (the NYCCFPT, for short), we all agree - coal-fired pizza is the best.  There is no substitute.  Not that fake-tanning Papa John with his 'better ingredients'.  Not that midget Little Caesar, who should go back to making salads.  Not Pizza Hut, with its Quaker State on Crust recipe.  Not Domino's with its melt-some-cheese-on-cardboard-and-deliver-it-quick-so-they-won't-know-better scheme.  Not Little Jim, Caesar's midget friend.  Not Papa Murphy, who doesn't even cook his pizza.  Not Totino. . .actually, his pizza rolls are pretty good.

So, anyways, vote Coal-Fired in 2008.
 

Would you walk across this bridge for some coal-fired fun?  We did.

Waiting in line at Grimaldi's.

Santa Claussen's Coming To Town!

Well, here's a holiday that Hallmark didn't invent. Pickle Day!

Did we go? Absolutely.

Did we love it? Darn right we did.

Did we eat lots of pickles? Duh, of course.

What was the weirdest thing we ate? Pickled green grapes. (Not bad.)

What was the grossest thing we ate? Pickled beets. (Seriously, why do beets exist?)

What was the best thing we ate? Cookie dough. (Okay, not exactly a part of Pickle Day, but it was nearby.)

What was the other best thing we ate? Kosher Dill on a Stick.

The Roof, The Roof, The Roof!

Where do you party when you don't have a back yard?  or a front yard?  when the sidewalk is already occupied by thirteen newspaper boxes, a guy selling knockoff purses, and a fruit stand?  when your apartment seats three. . .uncomfortably?  when bars charge $6 for Bud Light and $12 for the ever-manly Appletini?  when bowling costs $15 a game. . .plus $5 more for shoes?  when the closest Chuck E. Cheese is across one river and one state line?  when the closest beach is covered in medical waste?

On the roof, of course!

That's what we do here in NYC.  We have parties on top of buildings.  It works really well, too, except for the pointy buildings.

Most of you know Katy and I well enough to know that we don't throw parties (understatement of the year), but we do on rare occasion get invited to them.  So, we recently went to our very first rooftop party.  It had all the makings of a great rooftop party - food, drinks, people, and even a roof!  The weather was perfect.  People had fun.

This particular roof is situated in the Lower East Side and features an amazing view of the skyline - the Financial District, Midtown, the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building, Brooklyn --- pretty much everything worth seeing.  We watched the sun set, which doesn't happen often when you live in a five-story building surrounded by 40-story buildings.  Astonishingly, considering Manhattan is one giant light bulb, we actually saw stars. . .only seven of them, mind you, but they were stars.

Sadly, we do not have any pictures from this party, which is a shame, because the best part was the view.  So, I just borrowed someone else's picture from the Internet.  I should point out, though, this picture is from the exact opposite direction and was probably taken from a helicopter or a blimp.  We see blimps here a lot.

Sticks and stones may break my bones. . .

Walking the streets of New York City, you see lots of strange things, crazy people, and weird happenings. You see so many oddities that you begin to forget they aren't normal. Your entire weird-normal calibration goes totally haywire. Every now and then, though, you see something genuinely perfect - something that couldn't be better scripted in a movie - so you just have to blog about it. . .

It's a weekday morning in early August. I descend two flights of gray stairs, backpack hanging from my shoulders, and push open the heavy front door of my Upper East Side walkup. I expect the normal rush of humid, pungent air. Instead, it's fresh. It's cool and dry. I look up, expecting to see haze or clouds. Instead, a wash of blue. It's majestic.

As I do every morning, I stand in front of my building and ready my iPod for the trip to work. I plant sound-proof earbuds firmly in each ear, set my magic little jukebox to 'shuffle', and brace myself for what might come. This is usually the scariest part of my day. With whom will I share my first thirty minutes of consciousness? Will it be Jimmy Buffet, Billy Joel, or James Taylor? The regulars. Will it be Chantal Kreviazuk or Michael Bublé? My wife's music. Will it be Eminem or Jay-Z? Always an interesting start to the day.

Journey. Don't Stop Believin'. Nice.

I start walking west. I've got cool, dry air, a cobalt blue sky, and the best rock-ballad of all time telling me to keep on believin'. It's going to be one heck of a day. I'm wearing my comfortable Nike running shoes, so there's extra spring in my step. Why shouldn't there be?

I turn south, rounding the corner onto Second Avenue. As I walk alongside the highrise apartment building at the corner, with its sad, gray brick, I notice a fellow early-riser walking towards me. Late 30's, female, athletic. She's evidently walking home from the gym, in an unnecessary hurry, wearing workout clothes and a hint of flush redness in her cheeks. She talks, very animatedly, on her cell phone. Judging this book by her cover, I would say she carries more than a hint of attitude.

At this point, the world goes into slow motion. The only thing moving at regular speed is the soundtrack - still Journey, as I've only trekked two minutes from my apartment. The lady and I converge. We aren't more than ten steps from each other, still moving in slow motion. She talks fully with her hands, face, and mouth, as if the person she talks to is right in front of her. I can't hear what she says into the phone. I can't hear the cabs and buses rushing by. I can't hear anything but Journey. I certainly can't hear the flutter of pages as a book falls through the air and then - WHAM! - smacks this woman on the head. Assaulted by the complete works of Edgar Allen Poe.

Immediately, the world jolts back into normal time. It occurs to me that there is no established social protocol for when a 600-page paperback falls from the sky and hits a fellow pedestrian square in the head early on a weekday morning. I smile at the lady, thinking that she must be as amused by this as I am. Perhaps, just through eye contact, we can share a moment - the moment Edgar Allen Poe jumped out of a Manhattan apartment and landed on someone's head - probably the first time this has ever happened in the history of the world. I continue to smile and expect a smile in return, or maybe just a look that suggests, "did you see that?" This apparently is not the proper social protocol. She is not amused.

I still can't hear anything but Journey, but I can read this woman's lips as she talks into her cell phone, frozen in the exact spot where she met poetic justice.

"Oh. My. God. A book. Just. Hit. My Head."

I stop long enough to decide if I want to take the book or not. I decide to leave it. I continue walking to work. My day can get no better.

HOLY HANNA MONTANA!

Tropical Storm Hanna is here!!!  

It's rainy, it's windy, but by golly, we're having fun.

Our Most Loyal Reader!

Our trip to Colorado would not have been complete without spending time with our most loyal reader - Grandma Simpson!  That's right - she might be 80+, but she surfs the 'net like a 20 year-old!

Upon arrival in Colorado, we were treated to an amazing brunch at Grandma's house, where we then spent a wonderful day.  She even sent cookies and GMA's ***famous preserved peaches*** to the cabin with us.

After the wedding weekend in Steamboat, we saw GMA again before heading back to the Big Apple.

With love to our most loyal reader,

Katy & Erik

Steve, Andrea, and Paul take the plunge!

On Saturday, August 9th, cousin Andrea and new-cousin Steve kissed on top of Thunderhead Mountain in Steamboat, Colorado.  They kissed in front of 150 people!  Can you believe that?  They kissed for like ten seconds, and from where I was standing (less than five feet away), it looked like their mouths were open.  They even let people take pictures of them kissing!!  I mean, seriously, what has this world come to when people can stand on a mountain and kiss in front of anyone who wants to watch??  

I should note that in addition to the infamous mountain-kiss scandal ("Kissgate"), Steve and Andrea also dressed to the nines*, took five-thousand pictures, invited all of their friends and family, said a bunch of gobbledegook** about love and commitment and forever, filled everyone with food and drink and cake, then made everyone dance way past their bedtimes.  The outrage!

(Warning: In the next paragraph, "K&E in NYC" will briefly deviate from its strict policy of nothing-but-humor-or-at-least-attempted-humor.)

Steve and Andrea's wedding, including the entire weekend of festivities, was simply wonderful.  While the weather in Steamboat could have been a bit drier - okay, it could have been a lot drier - the rain did stop long enough to allow for a beautiful outdoor ceremony on top of Thunderhead Mountain, followed by one heck of a party.  Steve and Andrea are perfect for one another, and there is no question that they have years of fun and laughter ahead.

(Resuming standard policy.)

While Steve and Andrea "took the plunge" that day, the biggest plunge of all was taken by Paul.  In fact, Paul took two plunges.  That morning, the four of us (Jeannie, Paul, Katy, and I) thought it would be fun to try Steamboat's alpine slide.  For you flatlanders that don't know what an alpine slide is, it derives from everone's favorite Winter Olympic event: the one-man luge.  Instead of ice and blades, though, the slide is made of fiberglass, and the sled runs on wheels.

Alpine sliding is not meant to be difficult.  Unlike real luging, there is no full-body spandex, no push-start, no running on ice and jumping onto a careening sled, no leaning, no turning, no helmets, and they don't give out medals at the bottom.  I don't even think there's an age limit.  The only thing you control is the brake, which is a single lever situated between your knees as you sit on the sled.  To operate: push to go forward, let go for a gentle stop, pull back for a screeching halt.  Somehow, Paul missed these instructions. 

For our first run, Paul and I started together for a friendly race down the mountain.  As we began our descent, I thought to myself, "Hey, Paul's never driven a car faster than 27 miles an hour, so I'll just take it easy and wait for him at the bottom."  Wrong.  Before I finished that thought, a Paul-shaped blur was two turns ahead of me, disappearing into the trees.  I didn't see him again until halfway down the mountain, when I passed him trying to get back on his sled.  I thought to myself, "Paul must have stopped to take a potty break."  Wrong.  When we met up at the bottom, I could see from the missing skin (knees, hands, elbow) and melted polyester jacket (seriously) that Paul had taken a fall.  If you were paying attention above, you know that this should not be possible.

We took the lift up for a second run.  Not wanting to lose any more skin, Paul noted his intent to "take it easy this time," which he did.  Three turns into our second run, I was comfortably in the lead, and I thought to myself, "Well, good, he's really taking it easy, so he won't fall this time."  Wrong.  I got to the bottom and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  And, finally, he rounded the last corner - going two miles an hour - and made it to the bottom.  He had done the impossible.  He had fallen on the alpine slide.  Twice.  

Then we went to Wal-Mart for bandages and ointment.

With love,

Katy & Erik

* The phrase "dress to the nines" derives from "to the nine", a phrase used in 18th Century England to describe high standards or perfection.  It is unknown when the phrase first was used to describe clothing or a manner of dress, but it was no later than the mid-19th Century.  Theories abound as to the significance of the number nine, though the Internet has not yet reached a consensus.  (See also: Cloud Nine, The Whole Nine Yards)

** "Gobbledegook" is a real word.  I know this, because the dictionary says so.