“Sure thing, head to Nica
Trattoria on E 84th St. and 1st Ave., and make sure to
order the gnocchi WITH gorgonzola sauce, NOT pesto…Oh and one other thing: they
only take cash!”
This phone conversation is
not an uncommon occurrence for me. All of my relatives and close friends come
to me when they need to know anything restaurant related.
- Best cheap pizza?
- Best place to lounge around and sip on some of NYC best crafted cocktails?
- Best Chinese dim sum?
- Best burgers?
- Best fine dining French food?
You ask it, I can probably
name it. And on the rare chance that I can’t, I know exactly where to find it. There’s
sure to be a former coworker of mine in the restaurant industry that knows
exactly where to go when you’re craving pork belly tacos at 3 AM.
It really bothers me when
people claim they’re “foodies” but can’t even distinguish the difference
between Rosemary and Thyme. I was born with a hypersensitive pallet. I can tell
you if the water made for coffee was boiled, microwaved, or re-heated with just
one test sip. I can (for the most part) distinguish and break down dishes,
naming different ingredients used. I can also picture flavors in my head and
know what ingredients will complement each other without having taken a bite.
I. am. a. foodie.
