Supermac

"Supermac...
It's a very yummy meal...
The kind you do take home to mother..."

Sorry, I couldn't resist. Fashionista and BigBlueBabe were excited to take me out on my first real Saturday night ever. Well, that's pushing it. It wasn't my first Saturday night out ever, but it was my first Saturday out where I didn't have to be at work at seven or nine the next morning.

I felt like it was my "coming out" party. For two and a half years I was the woebegone weekend warrior, slaving at work on Saturdays and Sundays. I watched with envy as my friends enjoyed late night adventures, boozing brunches, and taking weekend trips across the eastern seaboard, all part of the young (at heart) professional's weekend ritual. When the rest of the human race's weekend ended Sunday night, mine would begin. I would get off work with that newfound surge in energy that comes once you press CTRL-ALT-DEL on your computer for the last time in the next 48 hours. But often I would get home, ready to bounce off the walls like a pinball, to friends in pajamas, curled up on the couch, catching up on the last week of TV episodes recorded on the DVR. Of course there were a few exceptions, and once in a while a friend would be psyched to grab a beer Sunday, but there's no getting around it, working weekends made me perma-cranky.

When I told a friend at my previous job I was moving on and leaving him behind for a Monday through Friday job, he replied, "You'll finally get to enjoy living like an actual human being." Imagine that.

The living started my first Saturday off. Fashionista invited a few of us over to pre-party, and the festivities revolved around ordering take out from Supermac. I had yet to eat in the city's new macaroni and cheese places. They seem to be popping up faster than banks on the upper west side. Before you know it, BLT Burger will be launching BLT M&C. I've heard of S'mac in the east village, and I know a few friends have tried it and liked it. Supermac is the west side's answer to the mac and cheese craze.

We ordered the following: the mac burger with beef, diced tomatoes, red onions, and aged cheddar; the quattro formaggio with cheddar, asiago, mozzarella, and parmigiano reggiano; the primavera with sun-dried tomatoes, roasted cauliflower, steamed broccoli, artichoke hearts, pesto, and fat free mozzarella; and the mac and cheese nuggets.

I went with the "burger" because my friends who ate at S'mac said it was a great combo. And it was. My only complaint was the cheese was too mild for me. I know I like cheese more than the typical person, but I must taste the cheese and I didn't. That's why when BigBlueBabe offered a taste of her four cheese dish, I dug in. I will be ordering that next time. Mmm, asiago and parmigiano, cheddar and mozzarella. Show me the cheese! As for Fashionista's primavera dish, if Ben and Jerry created a mac and cheese combo, this would be it. It'd be called Cheesy Garcia. There was so much going on in this dish you'd get a different flavor with every bite. I would order this on my own, but I might insist they put in real mozzarella, instead of the fat free version. The best part of the meal was the mac nugget. Fried mac and cheese bites are always a great way to start off the evening. I've only had fried mac and cheese at Mo Pitkin's, and it was a little bland in its big brick form, but slice and dice it into nuggets, increase the fried surface area, and you've got yourself a hot new side dish. With all the carbs we consumed, it's a wonder I felt any bit of tipsiness at the end of the night.

The delivery was a little slow. We had to call to make sure someone was on the way. A couple visitors arrived while we were waiting for the mac and cheese, and each time the door opened and it wasn't the delivery man, we'd burst with a huge sigh of disappointment - not exactly the way you want to be welcomed into a party. But as soon as we explained our mac craving, the new arrival understood.

It's too bad I don't live downtown. If I did I'd have a lot more of Supermac's macaroni to write about. Now I know I'll be hanging out at Fashionista's and asking to order from Supermac for every occasion. If this is what having weekends off entails, sign me up permanently.

348 7th Ave, between 29th Street and 30th Street
(212) 760-1900

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Redeye Grill

Manhattan's #1 fan came into the city to take his #1 fan out to dinner. My weekend was packed with going away work parties, and there were a couple painful mornings of being hunched over my keyboard, but I was able to squeeze in one night with Pops.

We still have yet to break out of our midtown meal mode. At least this time we had the nasal- dripping, face-burning, muscle-tightening cold to blame on our unwillingness to walk further than a few blocks from my old office building for dinner.

We noticed Redeye Grill from across the street; its bright red awnings and neon lights sucked us in. Before my Dad could even say, "How about going th-" I was already racewalking to the doors. I ate at Redeye about five years ago for a birthday dinner and loved it. I was excited to see if the food and service were as good as I remembered.

Redeye reminds me of Blue Water Grill. It's large, always packed, and perfect for big parties; but you can still manage to enjoy an intimate evening at one of its many tables. On our walk to our table, we passed plates piled high with yummy-looking seafood and the fish bar. On either side of the fish bar were two shrimp sculptures, which I later discovered are part of the Redeye slogan: "Home of the Dancing Shrimp Bar." I've never heard or seen such a thing, but if you don't crack a smile while saying it, then something's wrong with you. My dad and I sat at the far end of the restaurant, against the back wall, which I wasn't thrilled about. I felt like we were in the undesirable corner where they put the UIPs. As we took our layers of heat insulation off, I could feel the eyes of the other UIPs checking out our every move.

"Yes, lady, I see your plate. I see your bag, and I certainly see your poofy coiff, and I am not going to brush any of it when I take my seat."

Dad and I ordered a couple of drinks and enjoyed looking at the huge menu.

"What do you think you're going to get?" I asked.

"Oh, maybe a soup and a salad, I'm not that hungry," he replied, "and you?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe a burger, the burgers look good."

What happened next is what I like to call my family's "sly order switcharoo." Somewhere within the few minutes from when Dad and I discussed what we wanted, to when our server came to the table to take our order, we switched our meal on each other. This happens. It happens all the time and I can't explain it.

"I'll get the clams on the half shell, followed by a cheeseburger, please," said my Dad.

"What? I thought you were getting the -" I looked at him and he smiled back at me with a devilish grin. "Ok then! I'm getting the French onion soup to start, and the crabcake appetizer as an entree, please."

"I thought you said you were -"

"Like father, like daughter," I replied, with his same grin.

The cheese on my French onion soup was still bubbling when it came out to the table. It was a surprisingly good version of my favorite soup. I think it's the first time I've been brave enough to try it outside a French bistro and I was very pleased.

Dad's clams came out looking pretty resting on a bunny slope of ice. I slurped up one of the clams just in the knick of time, before my Dad put them away.

Dad's cheeseburger looked fantastic, and I almost wished I ordered one. And the fries, oh the fries. They were the perfect formula of thin+salt+crispy. I asked and Dad said it was cooked to his liking, which is always a nice bonus.


My crabcake was a little lonely on its plate all by itself, but it didn't have to sit there too long. The crab meat was loosely packed and broke apart with a light touch of the fork. There was a thin cooked layer on top which I saved for last. Below the crabcake was a layer of celery root, and below that a tangy salsa. I eat a lot of crabcakes and this was one of my all-time favorites. I really loved the celery root. It tasted excellent with bites of the crab meat.


Dad and I were too stuffed to even look at the dessert menu, a feat which doesn't happen often. Just the other day we chowed at J.G. Melon and somehow a chocolate fudge cake ended up on the table with two spoons. Our friendly server came right up to us and delivered the bill in a timely manner. Regardless of the crowds at Redeye, we never had to wait for anything at dinner. As we walked out the door, I winked at the dancing shrimp. It was my way of saying, "We'll be back soon."

890 Seventh Avenue, at 56th Street,
212.541.9000

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Dos Caminos

Winette and I planned to celebrate the first days of 2007 with a night of drinks and laughs. I know, you're thinking, "Those girls celebrate every night like its new year's." That's one of the reasons we get along so well. Life is too short to only get together on the weekends.

January was a strange month for New Yorkers. I'm used to building snowmen and cozying up by the fire in January. This year the mercury rose to 72 degrees. Time to whip off the down jackets and whip on the sunscreen! Winette and I are sunny sangria hounds and when we heard how warm it was going to be, we couldn't resist finding an outdoor spot to lush and gush. Winette suggested Dos Caminos for the fun-in-the-winter-sun holiday catch up. I've only had drinks at Dos Caminos so I was excited to eat my first full meal there.

Dos Caminos is part of the B.R. Guest restaurant group. If you live in New York you want to be in with this group. Its fifteen restaurants are the sight of life's celebrations every night of the week. You know you can get into any of the B.R. Guest restaurants, have a solid meal and a great time without a fuss. Some might think them a bit McTrendy. I say you can't go wrong with their food and service that's as dependable as a long line at Magnolia.

I think for once in my life I was on time for dinner. I never even made "being on time" a new year's resolution. Maybe that's not such a bad idea.

It was no surprise that everyone else in the city had the same idea as us. Dos Caminos has one of the best outdoor eating areas in the city. It's large and spacious and you can get in and out of your table without barreling into someone's dinner next to you. The place was buzzing with warm weather revelers, but lucky for our parched mouths and hungry stomachs, there was little to no wait for a table.

Winette and I asked the hostess if we could eat outside and she brought us to a table under a heat lamp. On any other crisp January night we would have needed the warmth, but that night it was a little toasty. I shifted to a seat further away from the gushing blanket of heat.

For our first cocktails of the evening we tried the mojitos. They were a little sweet to drink all night so we switched to the red sangria. Dos Caminos makes one of the best sangrias I've ever tried.

"Hawkeye and I ended up going to-"

A young sprite appeared out of nowhere at our table in all smiles.

"Ready to order, ladies?"

Slurp, slurp.

"Umm, no, thanks!" We chimed in unison.

"Hefeweisen and I went to our in-"

"Ready, ladies?"

Slurp, slurp.

"Uhh, no sorry, thank you!"

"I can't believe Lucifer gave J- every holiday off!" I shrieked.

"I know, how ri-" Winette was mid-sentence before the sprite appeared at our table again.

"How about now?"

I looked at Winette and we started giggling with straws in our mouths. Was this some kind of joke? He was sweet and we liked the attention but we needed a little more time and space. We hadn't even opened our menus yet.

After the third or fourth time he stopped by, we got the hint and opened our menus. To the server's relief, a few things jumped out at us and we made our decision.

We started with the cazuela de queso, or Mexican three-cheese fondue, with artichoke hearts, spinach, and pico de gallo. The little skillet came out with a plate of warm flour tortillas. We got a couple of great bites of warm thick cheese, but it congealed quickly and I resorted to eating the rest up with a fork.

Vegetarian Winette ordered the roasted plantain empanadas, with cojita cheese, black beans, and chipotle aioli. I love plantains in anything and these were excellent. The cojita cheese was a fine crumbly cheese, softer and more mild than feta. I loved the blend of sweet, soft plantain and salty cheese.

I tried the tacos al carbon, or grilled chicken breast, citrus chile, guacamole, and orange salsa. These soft tacos were the freshest tacos I've ever tried. I took a bite of one and could taste every individual ingredient. The fresh and tangy citrus salsa was a nice twist on the tomato-based salsa. The tacos were the size of my palm so I wasn't overwhelmed by my plate, as I normally am at Mexican restaurants.

The desserts were tempting but we were stuffed and off to meet HefeWeisen to watch the Seahawks in the NFC Championships. Dos Caminos was a great way to start off the evening, but too bad our great dinner and drinks didn't bring the 'hawks any luck. After last week's snowdump I think it'll be a while before we return to the patio of Dos Caminos, though according to Punxsutawney Phil, spring is on the way. If we're lucky, count on finding me at a table at Dos Caminos very soon, with sunscreen on and sangria in hand.

475 West Broadway, at Houston St
212.277.4300

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Day Two in the Emerald City

Top Pot, 2124 5th Ave., between Blanchard and Lenora

Sunday morning Hawkeye and I struggled to rally from our previous night's festivities. The first intelligent thing we did was skip a big breakfast. Who needed a re-do of the previous morning's breakfast bonanza? Instead we went for donuts at a place Hawkeye loves, Top Pot.

I learned Hawkeye not only loves to eat there, but he loves to say the name with the utmost sophistication, "Top Pot." I noticed the great donut place, first for its bright neon lights, then for its hypnotizing aromas. From a distance, it looked more like a Carvel ice cream store than a place to pick up coffee and a donut. But the smells drifting from it were nothing that could ever come from Carvel.

The front of Top Pot is all windows, which makes for fun people watching, whether you're sitting on the top or on the ground level. When you walk in, the walls on either side of you are filled from floor to ceiling with books.

"Are they real?" I asked Hawkeye.

I felt like I was the silly drunk man in The Great Gatsby, questioning Gatsby's library collection, thinking the books were fake. Before he had time to answer, I went to the wall and picked out some obscure encyclopedia and was amazed it had pages inside. They were real.

With one look at the counter display, I realized Top Pot is a lot more than just a donut place. This was a five star home of dessert and good cheer. These donuts weren't just breakfast bites, they were pieces of heaven, and most of them were covered in a layer of thick fresh frosting. If it wasn't frosting it was sprinkles, and if it wasn't frosting, the donut dough was so thick and fluffy you didn't need frosting.

People were buying the donuts in boxes by the dozens, probably taking them back to the office, where they were rewarding their staff for a job well done, a client won, or a good month in sales. I wanted a box to take home with me, to share with no one, well, maybe my family and a couple friends. They'd never bite into a Krispy Kreme donut after having Top Pot's version of the donut.

Hawkeye and I got to the front of the line and I had to lift my jaw up from the counter. I tried a raspberry donut and he got a chocolate bar. My raspberry donut was delicious. Hawkeye's chocolate bar was an eclair on steroids. Apart from the donuts, one of my favorite parts of the meal was how pretty they made my coffee look. I didn't want to ruin the milk leaf they made.

We sat at a table for a few minutes. Hawkeye read the paper, I struggled to do a crossword puzzle. I was hoping my donut would last me forever, but it didn't. I am craving a Top Pot donut right now. Maybe if I'm good this month, and I hint at it enough times, Hawkeye will ship me a box.

After breakfast, we spent the first half of the day driving around Seattle. Hawkeye wanted me to get a good feel for the city. Seattle's downtown is small, but the many neighborhoods outside the downtown area extend its character and charm. And the water! Everywhere you look, you're surrounded by beautiful bodies of water. It wasn't until after I met Hawkeye I learned Seattle isn't even on the ocean. But it sure feels like it. You have Elliott Bay and the Puget Sound on one side, and Lake Washington on the other, not to mention the beautiful majestic Olympic Mountains, or the Olympics, off in the distance. Mount Rainier is some hundred miles away but it looms so large on the horizon it feels as though it's in every Seattleites' backyard.

After driving through Fremont and passing by the Lenin and troll statues, we stopped in Ballard. Nothing struck me about the neighborhood until we pulled up to a marina and started driving right up to the docks.

"Where are we going?"

Hawkeye started slowing down, "Want seafood?"

There, to our right, were a few small fishing boats with a couple cars parked alongside them. Each had their own colorful flags, signs and chalkboards advertising the latest catch and cost. Shrimp, salmon, and scallops were all there for you to take right off the boat.

We stopped at one we liked and got out. A few moments later, an old bearded man hopped out of his Toyota pickup and hopped onto his vessel.

"Can I help ya' today?"

It was love at first sight. I'd never been so excited and thrilled to purchase anything in my life. It's not often I buy food directly from the person who caught, harvested or grew it.

Conan Johansen, of North Sea Fish Co. (206-856-5000) told us about his fishing trip to Alaska, and where the other boats went and what they caught in the harbor. Hawkeye found out some of the boats in the harbor were the famed boats of one of my favorite TV shows "Deadliest Catch." I could have stayed and racked Conan's brain forever, but it was chilly and a local was waiting behind us. I knew he was a local because he didn't see what the novelty was.

We bought about a pound of salmon and a pound of shrimp. I wish I had a party to cook for because I would have bought every pound of his catch. Meeting Conan and buying his fresh seafood inspired me to find ways in New York to buy directly from local farmers and fisherman. If anyone knows how to do this, please let me know.

From Ballard's fresh seafood purchases, we headed home to Hawkeye's apartment to park the car and walk to Pike's Place Market. We hadn't eaten anything since our high end donuts that morning, and I was hungry for a snack. The choices at Pike's Place seemed endless and I had no idea how I would choose until I saw this woman.

According to the signs, she was making piroshkys. I can't pronounce what they're called. I can't even tell you what's in them. I suppose they are the Russian version of a crepe, though they look nothing alike. Just know that it was the shape of a massive cinnamon roll, but it was covered in cheddar cheese and chives and it was warm and the dough was soft and chewy. I felt like Meg Ryan in "When Harry Met Sally." Every bite was better than the last and I couldn't stop moaning in the streets at how good it was.

After the piroshkys, we headed in search of some vegetables and fruit at the stands. How do you choose?

Stick your hand in, that's how! The beautiful red strawberries called my name. That's how easy it was to decide on our dessert that night.

After walking through the beautiful array of food and crafts, we ended our food-venture by heading to the Daily Dozen Doughnut Company. I know, we can't get enough donuts, can we? Hawkeye raved about this donut stand from the moment we started walking through Pike Place. We tried timing it just right to avoid the long lines, but once we finished shopping, we couldn't wait anymore. Good thing we decided to wait in line because they finished their daily rationing.

One of the donuteers announced to everyone in line, "We're closed! No more fresh donuts. But you can take one donut hole of the remaining batch!"

It was as if these people hadn't eaten in months. They were finagling ways to get more than just one of the donut holes. While the sugar-dusted hole was good, it didn't compare to my donut that morning at Top Pot.

Hawkeye and I returned to his apartment and cooked up a New Year's Eve feast. We drank champagne and enjoyed everything in our Seattle food collection. A few hours of champagne-drinking made us silly and sleepy, but I somehow managed to stay awake to see the fireworks, on TV anyway. When I turned around to give Hawkeye the ten minute countdown warning, I found him fast asleep. Once I shook him out of his donut dreams, we shared the countdown and a quick kiss, and it was off to dreamland for both of us.

Happy Valentine's Day everyone!

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Day One in The Emerald City

"When are you going to post about Seattle?" asked Hawkeye, with a twinge of disappointment in his voice.

I was about to fall for this before I quickly threw the ball right back at him, "When are you going to post about New York?"

"Hhhhhah!"

"Hhhhhah!"

Hawkeye came to see me in New York at the beginning of December. I went to see Hawkeye in Seattle at the end of December. Who's more behind reporting on the fun times? There's no pressure, really, but he did insist on guest blogging about our first dinner together. We had an amazing time and great food at one of Winette's favorites, Peasant. I just have yet to see it in writing.

I'm way behind in my posts, but I'm so compulsive I can't write my meals out of order, so here I go backtracking to the last few days of 2006, and the best mornings of a new year a girl could have.

Getting to Seattle from Carmel was easy. But leaving my parents during the holidays, something I've never done, and especially for a boy, wasn't so easy. I was really excited to see Hawkeye, and to celebrate New Year's with a boy for the first time in my life. But I still felt a pang of guilt and doubt. Was I going to have fun? Was I still going to like Hawkeye once I got there?

I told my mom as we drove to the airport, "Whenever I leave you guys behind in Carmel, no matter for how long or short a time, I get this weird feeling in my stomach, and I can't help but feel sad." My mom smiled and told me not to be so silly. Silly, maybe, but the moments we share as a family together are rare, and it's hard for me when those moments end.

A short, but delayed plane ride later, my sadness was gone and I was enjoying new moments with Hawkeye. The stress we dealt with planning the trip made it that much sweeter to be together. I couldn't buy my plane ticket until the last minute because Hawkeye was supposed to work New Year's weekend in Seattle or Las Vegas. It's standard procedure for our company to make last minute plans. Thankfully, a woman in New York volunteered to work for Hawkeye because she wanted to be with her husband working a New Year's show in Vegas. What were the chances? I had nightmares I'd buy a ticket, arrive at Sea-Tac, nobody would pick me up, and I'd have nowhere to stay. That's when I'd turn to my blog-o-dex and look up food bloggers in Seattle.

We had plans to eat out the first night, but we canceled once my plane was delayed. Instead, Hawkeye made me one of his signature omelettes. I call him to wake him up in the mornings and unlike any other guy I know, he sets aside time to make himself an omelette every morning. I guess you could say, lucky for me, my plane was delayed.

5 Spot, 1502 Queen Anne Ave North, at Galer Street

My first morning in Seattle we had more eggs, meat and vegetables than you can imagine. Hawkeye took me to one of the best places in town for breakfast, 5 Spot. There was a small wait, but as I watched servers dancing in and out of tables, with overflowing plates piled high with grub and mugs frothing with milk and coffee, I knew it'd be worth it.

Hawkeye ordered eggs over easy with toast and bacon, I ordered what an ironman eater wouldn't touch: the pizza frittata with peppers, marinara sauce, sausage, and mozzarella. I couldn't help but laugh when it came to the table. Our server looked at me like I was nuts, then he started cackling. Once I saw our side order of biscuits and gravy, I knew why.

Our server was extremely friendly, and our larger-than-life coffee mugs never went less than a third empty. He laughed when the food came to the table, but he was silent when he cleared our clean bare plates away. I think he was muted by the shock. We wouldn't need to eat again until, well, next week, but that was fine with me. I could definitely live like this.

After breakfast, we had a few hours to kill before we started drinking heavily to show our support for the Iowa Hawkeyes playing Texas in the Alamo Bowl. Hawkeye politely asked me if I minded drinking away an entire afternoon to watch football. I was in Seattle to be with him, and if that's how he spent any given Saturday, I would go with the flow. If it was the other way around, and Virginia was playing while he was in New York, I don't doubt he would have been thrilled to watch.

Buckley's, 232 1st Avenue West

When we walked into Buckley's, I couldn't believe my eyes. Either everyone was dressed up like the girl on the cover of the old Blind Melon CD or the place was packed, wall to wall, with U of I fans. I didn't know there were that many people from Iowa, let alone in a sports bar in Seattle. The place was crawling with fans, roaring with fans. We thought we were early. What a joke! If it wasn't for a sweet couple at a four-top, we would have stood the entire time. Instead, they offered us the two seats at their table they weren't using. I know I loved one Seattleite from Iowa, now I love them all.

Phuket, 517 Queen Anne Ave N

After several beers, a great game, but a not-so-great loss, Hawkeye, myself and our new friends who shared their table with us, headed to dinner. For some reason, we picked a Thai place Phuket. I'm sure it has a great reputation, and I did like their pad Thai, but dozens of pints of beer and Thai don't really mix too well. Only none of us realized this until it was too late. Our friend, who will remain nameless, disappeared from the table for a good while. We started to worry about him when his darling wife, who was five foot three and had the mouth of a 2oo pound sailor, got a phone call. Turns out he was in the bathroom finding out that beer and Thai don't mix so well. That marked the quick end of our Phuket dinner and my first full day in Seattle.

*I'm on a plane to Chicago to meet Hawkeye, and decided for the first time, I would leave my baby MacSilver behind. Until next Wednesday, friends!

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Nobu Fifty Seven

"How do you feel about celebrating Christmas Eve with a Gentile?"

That's what I asked my Jewish co-worker when he visited New York for the holidays. The company I used to work for called on RaiderofChiTown to cover the Christmas shift, and lucky me, I got to spend Christmas Eve after work with a friend.

It was unheard of to get holidays off at my previous job, and that's one of the reasons I was excited to leave it. In mid-November, I made a deal with the devil, or our scheduler. He told me if I worked Christmas Eve I could have every holiday off, including Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's Eve and New Year's Day. People who've worked in the industry for ten years don't get those days off. People who run the industry rarely get those days off. I was thrilled to offer my barely-paid services on Christmas Eve, and even more thrilled when I heard RaiderofChiTown would be coming to town.

Like many friends I've met through work, including Hawkeye, I knew RaiderofChiTown first through instant messaging. Only, I had the advantage of knowing what he looked like. He's on air, I am behind the air. Sunday night I caught him wandering through the newsroom and yelled "Raider!" He turned, smiled, and shouted right back, "It must be Mona!" We gabbed for the few remaining minutes of my shift, then headed out.

When Raider asked me where I wanted to eat, I only had one idea in mind. Sushi. For some reason, though I couldn't tell you why, I had it in my head that Christmas Eve tradition in my family involved no meat. When I asked friends if this was normal or if I was imagining things, they looked at me like I was crazy.

"It's not Lent, M-."

"Yes, but for some reason my family doesn't eat meat on Christmas Eve, I swear."

"No, M-. You're dyslexic. You're confusing Advent and Lent."

Regardless, we agreed on sushi. When I asked Raider to choose between the plethora of mediocre sushi places in midtown or an excellent sushi place in midtown, guess which one he picked. I'd been to Nobu Fifty Seven before with Carebear and her husband, but it was only for a snack. Thank goodness for Christmas Eve and Raider because I got to go for much more than a snack.

(And as it turns out, I'm not dyslexic. After consulting my parents, avoiding meat on Christmas Eve is an Italian tradition we uphold.)

From the moment you walk into Nobu's world, your senses are on high alert. You're salivating because you can't wait for what you're about to start tasting and your eyes can't keep up with all the beautiful things they're spotting. From the ceiling, beautiful pearl, shell-like strings dangled, like an elegant wind chime. The wall behind the bar that led upstairs to the dining area is made up of what looks like barrel drums wrapped in cloth with Japanese characters. The designer David Rockwell can come over and do my apartment any time. I'll just make sure to get rid of the old Budweiser noren first.

Raider and I walked into Nobu and, to our surprise, we didn't have to wait a minute for a table. We debated if we wanted to sit in the big bar downstairs or at a table upstairs and simultaneously we said, "What the heck, it's Christmas Eve! Let's get a table."

If Raider was talking to me as we walked upstairs, I can't recall. I was in my own world of wonder at the beautiful room around me. The hostess brought us right to the sushi bar and it was there we ooh-ed, chewed, and aah-ed the rest of the night. I've only sat at the sushi bar a couple of times before and to be doing it at Nobu, one of the world's meccas of sushi, felt pretty special.

Our waiter brought us a couple of beers and sake upon request. Sake never tasted so good. It took some serious self-control to not do a sake bomb on my last night before vacation; but Raider is a respectable adult, married with two children, and I didn't want to rub it in his face I'm still a crazy twenty-something. If I blew it, he'd never want to hang out again, even if I was the only one left in the newsroom on Christmas Eve.

Our empty stomachs were getting louder and louder with impatience so it was time to focus on the menu. The first thing I remember ordering with Carebear was the rock tempura shrimp. When I recognized it on the menu I blurted, "Rock tempura!" like I'd just learned to read. Raider was curious what my outburst was all about so we ordered the shrimp right away.

The shrimp is coated in a light batter and an orange sweet and spicy sauce (not to be confused with its Chinese cousin), making for crunchy balls of shrimp-tastic goodness. The bite-size pieces sit on a bed of lettuce that you inevitably put away because the lettuce is drenched in the citrus-y ponzu. Raider and I gobbled everything up with our chopsticks. Chopsticks turned into swords, and lettuce and shrimp went flying. We ordered another round of beer from our server, but when he saw the shrimp wars, I think he wanted to cut us off.

For our second hot dish we ordered the black cod with miso. I've never had a dish look more simple, plain, and empty pack so much punch. This small and delicate fish sat all by its lonesome on a plate, but it was not to be underestimated. Every hot bite was like sweet butter. All I could think of was Mike Myers as Linda Richman on "Coffee Talk," gushing about Barbra with his hands over his chest, "It's like buh-tuh." I'll keep eating, while you talk amongst yourselves.

Our first two dishes blew us out of the water. And we stayed there until we finished our last bite of assorted sushi: spicy tuna, eel, and soft-shell crab, to name a few. The sushi highlight for me was the tobiko with a raw quail egg. We each tried one. Raider was a pro. I, on the other hand, hadn't put raw egg in my mouth since my parents lived in Tokyo, and my Dad took me to an authentic Japanese restaurant in my Mom's place (she can't stomach sushi). I picked up the big roll with my chopsticks in one hand while my left hand was ready to catch the mess.

"You only get one bite!" said Raider.

"Great, here goes nothing!"

I tasted the egg more than anything. It was a bizarre mixture, and I prefer spicy tuna rolls, but at least I got the chance to try something new.

Raider has since returned to Chitown, and sadly we no longer work together. But if I'm lucky, Hawkeye and I will see him on our weekend trip to Chicago. It's going to be one brrrrrrrrrrisk weekend! Any tips on what to do, eat, and see in Chicago are welcome. If all goes as planned, I will get the chance to treat Raider to a good meal, a few good beers, and some good company, like he so generously treated me to on my Christmas Eve. Thank you, Raider, and see you soon.

40 West 57 Street
212.757.3000

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Rosa Mexicano

Dad called me the week before Christmas and his request was one for the memory books.

"I'm coming into the city. I want you to choose anything you want to see in the city, be it a concert, a play, a musical or an opera, or anything else you could possibly buy tickets to. You choose it and we will go."

I think my initial reaction was laughter, followed by a gaping "WHAT!?" It's not every day an offer like this comes around. I didn't want to let any show go unseen or any concert go unheard. I grabbed my trusty New York Magazine and started looking up everything that was going on in the city that week. I've seen musicals, and I've seen shows, but I'd never been to the opera. I went to dress rehearsals as a high school student, but that doesn't really count. I took a "humanities" class and once or twice a week we'd bus it to the Met. We took this class more for the field trips and extra time flirting with crushes than for the music. I discovered Rigoletto was playing at the Met and when my Dad called the next afternoon, that's all I said to him.

My dad spends a lot of time in the city for work, and during his recent stay, he ate at Rosa Mexicano. He loved it so much he just had to take me. I can think of worse things to do on a school night.

I sauntered in late as usual. Dad called me a couple times, wondering if I was going to show up, and both times I was "only a couple blocks away." No matter how many blocks I walk in this city, I still can't gauge how long it will take me to get from point A to point B.

I was surprised to find Rosa Mexicano much more low-key than I anticipated. I expected something bright and glam, with loud music and shiny tiles, glowing in a South Beach vibe. Instead it was warm and cozy. My Dad told me this one was very different from the other two locations. Maybe they are the flashier ones I envisioned in my head.

I found my Dad at a table in the front dining room, smiling, snacking on some tortilla chips and reading the paper. When I sat down our delightful server took our drink order. I encouraged my Dad to try a Negro Modelo and I ordered a margarita. I wasn't planning on drinking that evening, but the lime green concoction sitting across the aisle from us caught my eye. Dad's a picky beer drinker and I was relieved he liked his beer, as I loved my margarita.

I looked over the large menu and found several dishes that sounded tempting. The menu had much more to offer than run-of-the-mill Mexican fare. There were twists on some of the classics and one dinner at Rosa's will not feed my taste buds' curiosities. Tortilla pies, avocado leaf-crusted tuna, and beef short ribs marinated in beer were just some of the things I want to go back for.

I love avocados. I love them day or night. I don't even need anything else with them. I eat them plain. Sometimes I eat them with salt. I eat avocados, therefore I love guacamole. My dad turns green at the mere mention of "avo-". He can smell me cutting up avocados in our kitchen from his bedroom upstairs. "Get that thing away from me!" he yells, as if I'm dissecting a dead frog. That night at Rosa's, I sat at the table, in tortuous punishment, facing the cart of guacamole ingredients, trying to accept I would not be enjoying freshly made guacamole that evening.

"You should get some guacamole! They're known for it here."

I almost spit out my margarita in astonishment, but didn't want to waste any of the tequila. I was floored. My dad can't stand being within ten feet of the green goo, let alone sitting directly on top of it. I almost asked if he was sure about this, but then decided I didn't want to give him the chance to change his mind.

"One order of guac, please!" Happier words were never spoken.

The tall young man in charge of the guac cart came right over in his apron and prepped his equipment, like he was going into surgery. I studied his every move in awe, hoping someday I could mimic his quick hands. He sliced and scooped out two avocados faster than I could say "Ole!" I smiled knowing I would be eating the entire black tub of guacamole all by myself, and appreciated my Dad putting aside his hatred of the fruit so I could indulge in one of the things that makes Rosa's so great. They serve the guacamole with four warm soft tortillas, and while I did wrap some guac in them, I ate most of the soft, but chunky mush with a fork. Typing this without drooling on my keyboard has been a real challenge.

For dinner I ordered the crab enchiladas, or corn tortillas filled with jumbo lump crab meat, topped with a creamy tomaillo sauce and pumpkin seeds. My dad ordered the special red snapper. A side of beans and rice came with both of our dishes. Two servers delivered our plates at the same time, and both were piping hot. Our waiter was directly in tow to make sure everything was perfect. My Dad smiled and said, "He's a great waiter." I nodded my head in agreement but couldn't speak because I had already snuck my first taste. The crab meat tasted like it was right off the boat. The enchiladas were surrounded by a creamy sauce, but it wasn't too overpowering. It was the perfect consistency and complimented the crab meat, rather than drowning it. I only stole a small taste of my Dad's red snapper and it was hot and tender with a tang of sweetness. I was full after my two enchiladas, but couldn't let the sauce on my plate go to waste. I dumped some of the rice on it to soak it up and even the rice was delicious.

My Dad started looking at his watch with nervousness and urgency. He didn't want to be late for the opera. He asked for the check and our waiter promptly brought it to us with a smile. I tend to base an evening off the food it starts with. I enjoyed my first night at the Met, and the three acts of Rigoletto were both beautiful and sad. But in my head, the first act of the evening was dinner. Rosa Mexicano gets a loud "Bravissimo!" from me, and while I hope we started a new family tradition, I also hope to return to Rosa Mexicano's for an encore very soon.

1063 1st Avenue, at 58th Street
212-753-7407

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