Food for Thought Tours

I love when friends set me up with their foodie friends. A few weeks ago GoldenTee told me he had a buddy from school who'd just started her own company that combines two of my favorite pastimes: eating and traveling.

I exchanged a few inquiring e-mails with the founder of Food for Thought Tours and she wrote:

The weekend trips are a great alternative to going away internationally right now... Instead of just setting up the hotel for you, I have also included hands-on cooking classes with famous chefs, free food and wine, visits to local vineyards that I hand-selected for their excellence and hidden-from-the-public quality, insight into slow food communities and more. We also rent out the entire inn so usually really hard-to-reach places are ours for the entire weekend.

Umm, sign me up, please! When I looked at my calendar and realized I wouldn't be able to enjoy a tour in the near future, I decided to introduce her and her concept to my readers through an online interview, with hopes that you'd get out and eat! I plan to make this the first of many discussions with New York's makers and shakers in the food industry.

Name: Carolyn Centeno
Age: 26
Hometown: New York City
Current residence: New York City
Alma mater: Dartmouth College and Parsons School for Design
Occupation: "Green" Foodie Tour Cultivator, multi-disciplinary
Currently reading: "A Whole New Mind", David Pink
Currently listening to: The Kooks

Give me a brief description of Food for Thought Tours:

Food for thought on Food for Thought Tours: We focus on international/local, cultural and culinary tours with a green twist. We give our travelers "ins" to restaurants, chefs and hotels with a commitment to seasonal and local "farm to table" ethics and we support local communities while having a blast. My Web site says this: "Immerse yourself in unique and exciting sun-soaked, lip-smacking adventures - supporting local communities bringing together local farmers, winemakers and artisans. From market to table we have combined the best the earth has to offer...have a fabulous time and meet tons of new people!"

How did you come up with the idea for the tours?

It was more of a metamorphosis (still ever-changing) than a one day event. I decided to go to France for six months in search of a slower lifestyle to work with eco-hotels, sustainable chateaus and organic farms to learn more about sustainable landscape architecture and get a break from restaurant design and environmental architecture. While there, I had so many moments where I was positive that my taste buds had been lying to me my entire life. The French food was so pure, so fresh and so not-American. It had a powerful effect on me. During my time with organic farms and learning more about what goes into sustainable agriculture, I was mortified that Americans had been living an agricultural lie for years (seeing what Michael Pollan, author of "The Omnivore's Dilemma" and Barbara Kingsolver, author of "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" are talking about firsthand sometime after reading their books).

I came back determined to make a difference in NYC (and briefly in London). At first I decided I was going to apply for only urban agriculture jobs and combine my insights with architecture, but that didn't happen. I began to reflect on my time away and realized the huge distance New Yorkers have with this type of thinking. We go to grocery stores and eat out all the time. It struck me that I could really bring people together in New York City to learn about these concepts and have a fabulous time while doing it. I think there is nothing more substantial than sharing a meal, an afternoon or a day with strangers and gaining a sense of community in a city where it is hard to find exactly that.

Who introduced you to organic foods and what made you want to share your passion with others?

I have always been a food lover and very healthy eater, but I think that Pollan and Kingsolver introduced me to these concepts first. It marinated over a really long time, and I think the farmers and my friends of Southern France clinched it for me.

Describe a typical family dinner for you growing up:

My mother was born to European parents and my father to South American parents. Each of their families always ate dinner together every night, so we did the same. My mom and grandmother were amazing cooks my whole life and always made balanced meals. My dad actually owned an organic whole foods restaurant with a bunch of friends when they were hippies. (They actually sold the Soya burger who one of their friends came up with after going to India to a large Californian company. Pretty funny.)

How do you pick your destinations?

I am attracted to places and people that have a strong sense of community, appreciation of the environment and a warm culture. I chose France because I have amazing friends there who are off-the-beaten path and in places that are amazingly unique and authentic. I chose Ireland and Argentina because I am attracted to their friendly and open cultures, but also their dedication to the Slow Food movement. I chose the North Fork, Berkshires and other places in greater New York for their dedication to the Slow Food movement and "farm to table" ethics. Why not learn about our own culture for a change?

I like unique. I like authentic. I like fun.

I see you've traveled extensively in Europe, what is your favorite foodie destination?

I have! Too hard of a question! Besides my friend's hotel in Southern France, my friend who owns Chateau de Padies has the most perfect lunches with five different dishes ending in chocolate: tomato salads, foie gras, insert amazing main dish, bread, cheese platter, ending in chocolate and coffee.

And what would the name of that town be...?

I dont want to give away the hotel's name because it is part of my trip.

Love the mystery! Take me there now.

Destination though, I have to say the AOC goat cheese that my friend produces in a small town in Southern France is to die for. It is wrapped in fig leafs. Unbelievable. I also know the jam maker that makes fig and olive jam that goes perfectly. Party in your mouth.

Describe your ultimate vacation:

Meaningful. Vibrant. Real. Even though those are words I use to describe my trips I really think those ring true. I live for authentic experiences that no one else knows about. I like to have a lot of fun and meet loads of people from the country I am traveling to. Any of my friends who have traveled with me can attest to the fact that I am up for pretty much anything. I love food, I love adventure and I love people.

Are you at all concerned about the economy and its effect on people wanting to travel? What are some of your most recession-friendly travel/cooking options?

I am incredibly empathetic to the recession topic, and I am trying to do everything in my power to make trips as affordable as possible. I think this is because I am doing this as more of a labor of love than anything else. I just want people to have fun.

I have recently started a whole series of day trips and cooking classes that are well priced with what they are offering. I have worked extensively with vendors to get the best value for your money.

I also am starting a series of dinner parties that will be based in people's apartments to offer an intimate option to going out to a restaurant. I have also put together a series of well-priced prixe-fixe dinners with the owners of Slow Food restaurants in NYC to offer a night to network and learn about the restaurant and have a lot of fun!

All of my trips are great networking opportunities to meet other New Yorkers...which may mean job opportunities.

Who are some of your culinary influences?

Alice Waters. River Cottage. Jamie Oliver. River Cafe.

As a restaurant Site, I have to ask, your top 3 restaurants?

Slow Food Restaurants: Gustorganics, Jimmys no.43, Back Forty.
And others: Cafe Cortadito, Lil' Frankies (or any of the Frankies group), Les Enfants Terribles

Thanks for chatting, Carolyn! The words you used to describe your ultimate vacation are the same words I'd use to describe my friends and readers. I'm sure they will be just as excited about Food for Thought as I am. Good luck!

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Kuma Inn

Photo courtesy of NY Mag, taken by Gavin Thomas. Mona's still camera-less :(

I forget what commercial I was watching. The hand model plunged a fork into a big bowl of steamed white rice and all I could think about was Kuma Inn. Kuma Inn. Kuma Inn.

TheDude picked Kuma Inn for our last dinner club with LoveLight. We were hoping to squeeze in a brunch of his choice for a last hurrah, but that never happened and who knows when I'll see him again. Oh wait. TheDude, FTDC's hopeless romantic, just proposed to his girlfriend of less than a year and he mentioned an engagement party. Congratulations, TheDude! I can't wait to hear the details in a couple of weeks, and if I know LoveLight, he will be the party's MC.

In a sort of passing of the torch, our new dinner club member joined us to make it a fun fivesome. I have yet to come up with a name for said newbie, after only having met him once, so sit tight, FTDC rookie, I'll name you yet.

When the e-mail came from TheDude with a link to Kuma Inn, I was a little hesitant. New York Magazine described it as "Asian tapas." Hmm. I like tapas, but with our hungry bunch I wasn't sure I was going to be satisfied. Tapas are the perfect pre-going out meal. I never feel like I really have a sufficiency from tapas, but maybe I'm just not going to the right places. I also have a problem taking small bites. If I like what I'm eating, I want a lot of it. I can't handle being teased by one spoon or forkful.

Fashionista and I met at NYAC and headed downtown. Kuma is cash only and BYOB so we both had our stash of wine and greenbacks. We turned onto Ludlow, a street we've both frequented, and we were perplexed by where it could be. After some serious studying of storefronts, I noticed the miss-able signage on the door sill. It felt like we were headed into a friend's walk-up apartment.

"What is TheDude getting us into?" asked Fashionista.

"This feels sketchy..." I said keeping my arms and purse away from the dingy staircase walls.

Leave it to TheDude to keep us guessing.

We opened the glass door and found ourselves in a tiny restaurant. The kitchen was to our left and a wine-filled fridge sat in front of us. The host took our names and our wine (could we trust him?) and we took a seat on the bench to wait. I had flashbacks of my last doctor's visit.

Rookie must have heard us say TheDude because he got up right away and asked if we were there for dinner club.

"Aha! Welcome!"

We exchanged some introductions and the New York five: who, what, where, when and why. YES! Turns out another UWS-er has joined our dinner club. Maybe I'll eat local a couple of times a year.

LoveLight came in and we barely recognized him. Fashionista and I noted we'd never seen him in casual attire and we dug it, especially the Chucks. TheDude strolled in shortly behind him.

I peaked at the kitchen as the host led us to our table. It was very cramped and I wondered how they produced such high quality food in a kitchen just a few square feet larger than my bathroom. If you read the "About Us" section on the Kuma Inn Web site, the chef King Phojanakong has received countless "best of" awards. Perhaps most impressive is his cooking history. He's cooked under Daniel Boulud, David Bouley and he worked at Jean-Georges, to name a few of the highlights. I had no idea we were eating in the presence of such greatness.

Our waitress came to the table and she wasn't what I was expecting. In a place so heavy on the Asian accents it was jarring to have a waitress who looked like a frumpier version of Rachael Ray. Kuma reminded me of a hole-in-the-wall spot in Tokyo I frequented with my family when they lived there and it was all Japanese men all the time. She was pleasant enough though and rattled off about two dozen specials, of which I remembered two.

"Damn, girl. That was impressive. How do you remember all that?" I always got tripped up memorizing specials. If I was forced to do it without notes and an item escaped me, I improvised.

"And tonight our special is rack of lamb. It's crusted in a macadamia nut with Japanese....err...."

It's supposed to be eggplant, but I say, "...tomatoes! Arugula and roasted peppers in a coriander sauce." Meanwhile, praying nobody asks me or anyone else within earshot what Japanese tomatoes are.

It took us a while before we each decided to order two things. Our list was a hodgepodge of the following:

steamed edamame with Thai basil-lime oil
grilled baby octopus with pickled bamboo shoots
seared ahi tuna in a Thai chili – miso vinaigrette
drunken spicy shrimp finished with sake, kalamansi and Thai chilies
deep–fried pork belly lechon kawali with atchara
pan roasted ocean scallops with bacon, kalamansi and sake
sautéed Chinese sausage with Thai chili-lime sauce
coconut rice
Asian-style pulled pork sliders

In my best Veruca Salt impression, I told the waitress I wanted some edamame NOOOOW. My stomach was eating itself and I couldn't wait until the rest of the orders were ready. FTDC laughed in unison and embarrassment at my adamant request.

"I'm sorry, I'm just hungry," I explained.

Kuma Inn has ruined me for all future edamame.

"Oh my GAWD-uh. This is seriously the best edamame I've ever had."

The table looked at me in disbelief. I knew what they were thinking. You're eating seeds that you suck out of a pod, what is the big friggin' deal? Until...

"You're right. Holy s***."

"Oh my god, she's right."

"Daaang, what is on these?!"

I'm known for dumping a gallon of soy sauce and sea salt on bowls of edamame because I want to suck something off the pod. Well, here I was tasting the basil-lime-juice-drenched edamame and it was heaven. I could have eaten four more helpings and called it a night.

The other highlights were the spicy Chinese sausage, the pulled pork sandwiches and the coconut rice.

There are few things I have food-gasms over and I had one over Kuma's coconut rice. I had one bite of the gooey, sticky, raw, dough-like wad wrapped in leaves and my eyes rolled to the back of my head. I feel like the rice was spiked with something and I haven't stopped thinking about it since. I don't even like rice. I never order it anywhere. But with each bite I became more and more ravenous for the coconut-flavored goodness. I didn't even ask the table before I requested another helping. How can I make this at home and does Kuma Inn ship to the Upper West Side?

As for the extra large sliders, one order wasn't enough. I can't tell you what kind of bun the barbecue was on but it was a white puffy, cloud-like substance. When you bit into it, it was like you were biting into barbecue and two soft pillows of dough. The consistency was almost like cotton candy and the bun dissolved in your mouth.

The great was marred by a couple of disappointments. The poor baby octopus died in vain because he did not taste so good. Think wirey, tough calamari. I forced it down but it was not pleasant. And I usually LOVE me some grilled octopus.

I couldn't figure out the pork belly either. I was turned onto it by TheDude, who's now, for the second time, turned vegetarian on me, but Kuma's pork belly didn't do it for me. There was a thin layer of juicy meat, but I almost broke my jaw and molars biting into the crispy outer layer. For all I know, I mis-swallowed a bone. If you hurt yourself eating something it can't be good.

There was little to no decor, which to me, usually means the place takes its food very seriously. It was a few steps above a hole-in-the-wall and that's what I liked about it. No frills, just eat. The far walls held some abstract art but that was about it.

I counted about six to eight tables and they were all taken by the time we were halfway through dinner. You don't want to show up to Kuma Inn unannounced. BYOB means people are taking their time to eat and unless you want to be a benchwarmer, call to make reservations. I still haven't been to Momofuko Ko, but I imagine Kuma to be the poor man's, more attainable version.

This upcoming month marks the one-year anniversary of FTDC. What a difference a year of dinner club makes. I need to write a novel about our once-a-month rendez-vous, our stories and the loves and duds of our lives who come and go faster than highly-anticipated vacations.

When I announced my next month's picks, The Dude wrote back:

April 7 makes for an FTDC rule (when Tuesday falls on the seventh day of the month). I just can't remember what it is!

The only rule we have now is if the first Tuesday of the month falls on the first we go out afterwards. Does it get any better than that?

Another one comes to mind... just because you go off and get engaged in Costa Rica and/or married doesn't mean your chair is allowed to go empty at dinner club.

113 Ludlow St., 2nd floor, near Delancey St.
212-353-8866

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F.A.T.

Fridays About Town, I've neglected you for months and I promise I'm going to try harder to make you a more regular feature on the blog.

How typical of this winter. It just doesn't want to let go. It wants to hold us in its cold and frigid grasp until the very last second. Snow on the first day of spring? Unacceptable!

Let's hope it warms up a little bit so we can get some fresh air this weekend. I'll be at a rugby game tomorrow in full-on rugby gear: jersey, shorts and tube socks to boot, so it better be warm!

If you're looking for things to eat, drink and do, here you go:

Dare I Suggest This to Dinner Club?
The Recession Makes Some People Do Some Strange Things
YES! Signs of Life at Chumley's
Save the Date: The Rusty Knot's First Birthday
Another Bracketology ... for New York's Best Bar
First Ever New York City Chowder Slam
Gotham Bar and Grill's Got an Anniversary Special
Forget 2 Buck Chuck, Try 3 Buck Bites
This Guide Is Just Too Good to Not Share With Everyone
The Bourgeois Pig Serves Up Some Brunch
Get Ready to Set Sail at the Harbour
Potluck Never Looked So Good (Thanks Lion)
Two Weeks Left of Burger Month ... Who Knew?
Because These Just Look Sick

P.S. Did I mention I signed up for Twitter? Follow me and my food-ventures at MonasApple. Thanks BYOW!

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Where to Go on St. Patrick's Day in New York

I love my roots. To me there's nothing better than being a little Irish and a little Italian, with some Polish and Scottish mixed in there too. Celebrating my Irish Duffy-ness started March 7 in Hoboken and yesterday my Facebook status read: "I am getting my a** kicked by St. Patrick. Two down and the BIG one to go."

Last Saturday about 10 of us met at Fashionista's apartment by the Path just before noon. Well, some people were there around 10:30 a.m. I showed up late to LittleMissSunshine screaming, "Where are our T-shirts?!?!" GoldenTee offered to make us party girls some party shirts. It's his new thing. The front had St. Patrick in Gaelic and the back read "Poke Me, I'm Irish."

"Oh hold your horses! They're right here."

We assessed and adjusted everyone's green garb (BYOW surprised us all with his I Shamrock NJ tee), snacked on bagels and donuts, and made ourselves roadies before we headed to house parties in Jersey. A friend asked me earlier on in the week which bars I was going to.

"Ummm ... I don't do bars on Hoboken St. Pat's."

We made that mistake as amateurs the first year I lived in the city and we vowed to never do it again. Each year I tell myself I've outgrown Hoboken St. Pat's. I come back to the city on a packed train with drunkards hooting and hollering (OK, some of them are my friends) like it's Mardi Gras thinking, "Why? Why? Why?" Then each February the day creeps up, I hear rumblings of plans and I ditch the disinterest for excitement. Anything to look forward to in these awful last days of winter! Can we spring ahead to Memorial Day, please?

This past weekend Fashionista and I bought tickets to the St. Patty's bar crawl in New York. I'd never done it before and was encouraged by TheTustler to sign up. A friend of mine had people over to his apartment for Irish coffees and breakfast and we headed out after that. I don't know if I'd ever do it again. The first place we landed for registration, T.G. Whitney's, was a little heavy on the B&T crowd. And I ended up keeping the one thing I thought would make it worth it -- the sheet of paper that qualified me for winning a trip to Ireland. Come to think of it, I'm sure I would have had a 1 in 2 chance of winning. I mean, how many people who started drinking at 11 a.m. were going to remember to turn it in? Not many.

I've recovered from Saturday with a couple of solid, in-bed-by-8:30-p.m. nights' sleep. In store for me today is a NYPD party at Pier 51: free food, beer and a pipe band. What more could you ask for? I can't be burned out on St. Patty's Day without celebrating the real deal with our city's finest.

If you're rallying friends for a last-minute Guinness, here are a few bars you should check out, where you're guaranteed to smooch at least one Irishman without running into the hordes of drunk tourists and parade-goers.

The Bravest on 38th, 700 Second Ave., at 38th. You're guaranteed to run into firemen here.
Dublin House, 225 W. 79th St., between Broadway and Amsterdam
Ear Inn, 326 Spring St., near Greenwich St.
The Emerald Inn, 205 Columbus Ave., near 69th St.
ForOhOne, address unlisted, somewhere in Greenwich Village
Kinsale Tavern, 1672 Third Ave., near 94th St.
Paddy Reilly's, 519 Second Ave., at 29th St.
Puck Fair, 298 Lafayette Street, at Houston Street
Swift Hibernian Lounge, 34 E. 4th St., near Bowery
Ulysess, 95 Pearl St., at Hanover Sq.

Happy St. Patrick's Day, everyone. Thanks to a few spirited co-workers, I'm stuffing my face on Irish soda bread and green bagels. If I don't see you in green you're getting a pinch so look out.

And since I'm such a mushy sap, bordering on total cheeseball, I leave you with this Irish blessing:

Wishing you a rainbow
For sunlight after showers—
Miles and miles of Irish smiles
For golden happy hours—
Shamrocks at your doorway
For luck and laughter too,
And a host of friends that never ends
Each day your whole life through!

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123 Burger Shot Beer

I'm sitting at a desk on the ninth floor of NYAC, in the small room they call the library. This place makes me laugh. Everybody tries to be so prim and proper all the time. I wish they'd kick back once in a while and not take themselves so seriously, but then again this is NYAC. It's been around since 1868 and only started accepting women (read men couldn't walk around on the pool deck naked anymore - oh the horror!) within the past three decades.

An elderly gentleman in a fedora and wire-rimmed glasses just loudly shushed someone for having a cell phone that went off by accident. I'm enclosed by 10-foot-tall glass shelves filled with old books and couldn't see who it was. Note, this same man shuffled in with a cane and his 6-inch stride not 10 minutes prior with a fancily clad woman who appeared to be his wife. He spotted an empty leather couch and threw his wool coat at it, but grossly misjudged his strength and the distance he was from the couch. It was, as you would call it in basketball, an air ball, or in this case, an air coat. It landed in a pile on the floor. "S--T!" He yelled. It was the fiercest "S--T!" I'd ever heard. The four men in my vision looked up from their newspapers startled. I fought hard not to lose myself laughing at this unexpected use of a four-letter curse word in the library. Call me crazy, but I think he could have afforded the cell phone owner a little bit more patience after such a classic entrance.

Darn. The Chris O'Donnell look-alike sitting directly across from me just left. He had a side part, khakis and topsiders and was straight out of a clip of "Circle of Friends." LittleMissSunshine ordered me to invite him to join us in the club's Tap Room that night but I'm a big wuss.

***
We were on a Sunday fun day kick for weeks.

"You guys seem to do a lot of Sunday fun days, huh?" asked CarolinaBlue.

"Heck yeah! What else do you have to do on a Sunday?" Stay sober and dread the work week ahead? Not my crew.

First there was football, which made for a couple of Sunday not-so-fun days, thanks (or no thanks) to the New York Giants.

Then there was FoxyLady's Sunday birthday party at The Rusty Knot, which ended up being a not-so-fun day either because my barely-a-month-old, tricked out camera phone, the Nokia N82, went for a swim in the toilet. My brother has since advised me to kick the camera phone all together for the iPhone (whose camera is lousy) with hopes of purchasing a decent, no frills, subtle camera to use at restaurants and out with friends. Got any tips? Please advise.

Last, but not least, there was the mother of all Sunday fun days, thanks to Fashionista, at Medieval Times. It came up a bunch in conversation and I was hoping if I ignored it, it would go away. Even after Fashionista sent the Evite I was secretly hoping something would come up that weekend so I could get out of it. Wedding? Anybody?



As the day started to approach, I knew I wasn't going to be able to fib myself out of it and as Fashionista's good friend, I decided I'd support her field trip idea. I was Doubting Mona, for sure.

As the day arrived and more and more people were on board I started to get pumped. Maybe it'd be fun after all. I was especially excited with our decision to pre-game it at 123 Burger Shot Beer ($1 burgers, $2 shots and $3 beers). After all, the motto of my crew is "Let's drink before we go out drinking."

Exhibit A: Jager bombs.


ClarkKent gave me the 123 Burger Shot Beer menu eons ago and suggested I give it a chance on the Apple. I'd been dying to go but hadn't had good reason. Until now. We had the entire bar to ourselves and we sprawled out all over. I walked in and the damage had already been done. A couple of my guy friends, Jabba and GoldenTee, had collectively put down about two dozen sliders. I called the furthest seat from them on the bus to Lyndhurst, N.J., and the furthest seat from them at the knight's table.

Once the waitress handed me my own collection of $1 burgers I understood why. They were like beef candy. The soft buttery dough of the buns wrapped around the gooey burger went down like shots themselves. I added the pickles for a little sweet, crunchy kick. Sold! May I have another!


Some of us enjoyed the $3 beer and some of us enjoyed their cheap well vodka-sodas. The bar was such a hit we returned after Medieval Times. I wasn't much for the ambiance - the exposed brick walls clashed with the all-silver counter top. It seemed they were going for a pseudo-'50s retro Johnny Rockets-type theme but they didn't quite get there. I won't be headed to 123 for my 30th birthday party, but we had a blast, the manager was super friendly and it sent us on our merry medieval way.

Once the cheap tab was settled we took off to make our bus at Port Authority. It was a comedy of errors. I wish somebody had taped our racewalking trek through the rain to make our bus by 30 seconds. We walked, we skipped, we jogged, we did something in between a walk and a run and finding the bus terminal once inside Port Authority was like finding your gate at Narita.

The driver was taking his foot off the brake pedal when we banged on the door and demanded to be let on like it was the last bus out of the city during a flash flood. I apologize now to the passengers who wanted to enjoy a peaceful, pleasant trip.

I don't think I stopped laughing of incredulity from the moment I walked in Medieval Times to the moment we stumbled out stealing all the glass and cupware we could find. We got in line for our tickets, we were released into a big room with bars in every corner serving nothing but super duper-sized (and priced) cocktails. My girl Fashionista is a genius and decided to BYOV and she was adding it to her club soda water in the bathroom. Take a page from her book, ladies.

After we all downed our beverages and played prince and princess in the Hall of Arms, we were trumpeted to our seats. We were the green table. Somehow, whether by coincidence or planning on their part, our crew was in the NC-17 section, i.e. the drunk rowdy section of the sandy ring. As every other color's section was introduced to cheering and jeering, we could barely make out heads over the long group tables. Red was Joey's seventh birthday party, blue was Annie's 10th birthday party, yellow was Mike and Mary's joint 11th birthday party. When they announced the green section all hell and spitfire broke loose.


"GO GREEN KNIGHT! GO GREEN KNIGHT!"

You see yellow here because with booze goggles he reminded us of someone LittleMissSunshine used to date.

There was a storyline but I couldn't tell you what it was. I can only say there was a man's loud and booming voice on a microphone (he was definitely trying to be Sean Connery's King Arthur) and I could make out the knights' colors, and the names King Phillipe and Princess Leonore from time to time. Knights of every color of the rainbow were jousting in front of us while we pigged out on a four-course meal that was actually scrumptious -- from the garlic bread to the tomato soup, from the spare rib to the roasted chicken. We were all very impressed.

Green knight won and I know it was because of his record-breaking cheering section. The whole place would be silent with dread as someone was about to get axed or pummelled with a single ball mace and someone at our fun table would yell "GO GREEN KNIGHT!"


"You're kind of creepy looking but we love you!"

At the end of the production, the King gave shout-outs to all parties present. The list was endless and it was mostly just a bunch of kids celebrating their birthdays. Until...

"Welcome, Janet and Steve, who are celebrating their 10th wed - WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!?!?!"

My whole table exploded with laughter. Even the actor playing the proud role of king was stupefied by their choice of anniversary venue.

We all had a blast at Medieval Times, but like my fifth birthday party at Bullwinkle's many years ago, I think it's a once-in-a-lifetime deal. Although, you never know, maybe I'll have a son one day who will beg me to go for his birthday.

"Mawww-ummmm! Please?"

"Seriously, honey? OK, OK! Tell Daddy to call. Oh! And ask him to request the green section!"

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T.G.I.F.F.

It's not my week.

Sunday 0200 hours: I realized my 4-month-old, silver snakeskin clutch was stolen at Pianos -- a place I loved and trusted with my time, friends and dance moves. I will still go there and try to forget what happened to me, but you can be sure I will never leave an ounce of my being off my arm or shoulder ever again.

Sunday 0330 hours: I spent about 15 minutes with a manager at Pianos looking at surveillance video.

"Is this you? Is that you guys? Are those your friends? Is that your stuff?"

"No. No. No. No."

It appears the only corner of the bar that wasn't covered by a hidden cam was the spot me and my six friends were huddled in. Though we couldn't nail anybody, I am grateful to the manager for trying to help me in my tear-filled desperation, and to the bouncer who ditched his post to light up the entire bar with his 6'4" bulky frame and flashlight.

Monday 1700 - 2100 hours: As a just-to-say-I-did-it measure, I filed a police report at the 7th Precinct, located right off the Williamsburg Bridge. I thought I'd go, fill out a piece of paper, itemize the value of everything I lost (a shiny new iPhone, Blackberry, wallet, designer bag, Visas, keys, makeup satchel) and head home. Three hours later, I'm sitting in a detective chair, channeling my inner Sherlock Holmes, and calling my credit card and phone companies trying to track down any movement or usage of my stolen items. I had been a victim of grand larceny.

"There were purchases made at Macys for 247 -"

"Get out!" I shrieked.

I turned to the detective helping me with my case (who knew a purse stolen late night at a bar warranted a detective's asssistance?) and covered the phone with my hand, "Oh my god, the *&^%$#@ charged stuff at Macy's. AHA!" I had this weird sense of glee.

"The card was then used at Kennedy Chicken for --"

"WHAT!?!? As in the ghetto, not-really-Kentucky-Fried-Chicken place? Oh my GODDDD-duh!"

I couldn't get enough. I hoped this joker spent half my credit card limit. I had a weird sense that the more he charged, the more chances we had of catching him (there's no way a girl would be going to Kennedy Chicken).

I canceled my cards immediately, thanks to the help of Fashionista and Mustang. But as the detective pointed out, you always have to follow up with your card companies to verify they in fact did cancel your accounts. Thank you, J.P. Morgan Chase, for your efficiency, although perhaps their delay in denying this bastard's charges could help ensare him.

It's now Friday, and my "to catch a thief" update is the detective called me yesterday for my phones' IMEI numbers. He is subpoenaing my phone companies for phone records. Insane. Write the IMEI numbers down, people. It is like a car's VIN number and they may be used by the police if you have the fortune of being robbed like me.

Thursday 1000 hours: My boss calls me into her office. It wouldn't have been so bad had I not seen my partner in crime leaving said office with a face as red as a roasted tomato.

"I know you are resistant to change..."

Think Bill Lumbergh from "Office Space"...

"But I'm gonna need you to come in at 5 a.m. from now on."

My heart sunk. I had no idea this was coming. I nodded my head a few times in acceptance. I blinked my eyes at a rapid pace hoping that would somehow prevent tears from erupting.

"Are you OK with this? I know you hate the evenings, and this is the next best thing I can offer you..."

Really? Oh man. I love my boss. I'd pretty much walk through fire for her, but I don't know if I'll be able to handle this.

Goodbye weeknight fun. Sayonara dinner clubs followed by going out. Au-revoir Thursday boozedays. Arrivederci late night chats with roomies. Hello sleeping pills.

So yeah. Awesome week on my end. As my coworker pointed out, "Nowhere to go but up." Up starts tomorrow at Hoboken's St. Patrick's Day Parade. Lord knows I could use me some luck (and drinks) of the Irish.

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