I wanted to hate Pinkberry because it’s a trendy LA import, but I got out of a car in front of one and had to try it. The basic idea is that they serve plain frozen yogurt. You can add fruit or cereal on top of it. They have a green tea flavor that’s considered vile. So, people tend to get the plain.
Two things going for it aside from popularity are that it serves plain frozen yogurt and that it hopped to LA from Korea. Korean food rules right down to the mackerel pikes and mysterious tea poured into the leftover rice.
So, I actually liked Pinkberry. If you want to know what it tastes like and aren’t in LA or New York, take a good yogurt, chill, stir it up until smooth and stir in a packet of Splenda. Add chopped fruit or cereal if you feel amibitious. It won’t be frozen yogurt, but it will probably taste more or less the same.
All in all, I’d rather see a bunch of these around the city than Coldstone Creamery. A second flavor that wasn’t apparently vile would be a nice touch, but I’ll bet people hate it because it actually tastes like Green Tea and not Japanese Green Tea ice cream. Maybe a nice chamomile flavor…
Armenian genocide
In the Tuesday editorial “Pelosi’s pandering against Turkey,” you argue that Congress shouldn’t adopt the Armenian genocide resolution (H. Res.106) because it could lead to “serious damage” in relations between the United States and Turkey. Turkey’s threats are simply the continuation of its 90-year campaign of denying Armenian genocide. Why sell the United States short? Why must Congress capitulate to Turkish government threats while France, Argentina and other countries remain steadfast against similar pressures?
There is more at stake here than economic issues and geopolitics. There is the fundamental question of morality. Every time the Armenian genocide is recognized, mankind reaffirms its commitment to reconciling truth with humanity. By passing this resolution, the United States will include itself among those great countries that hold justice as a supreme value.
We cannot let realpolitik dictate truth. Renowned philosopher Bernard Henri-Levy said it best, in the French Newspaper Le Monde: “This Armenian genocide, this first genocide, it was — “first” — in the true sense of the word: an exemplary and almost the seminal genocide; a genocidal test case; considered a laboratory for genocide by the Nazis.”
JULES BOYADJIAN
Armenian Youth Federation France
Valence, France
The lack of a 7 train sent me to Jackson Heights and I grabbed dinner at Thai So’N at 74th and Roosevelt Ave (or something, it’s like the intersection of every street in Northern Queens). I walked over to it thinking, “great, Thai food” and it turned out to be Vietnamese. Even better (sorry Thailand).
This is what I like about eating out in Queens. The ethnic food is fantastic. The restaurant was spotless. I had to over-order to reach a $14 tab. Please excuse the lack of accent marks on the food names.
I tried the Da Chanh, or fresh lemonade. It was fine and if you mess up lemonade, you might as well close the restaurant. It’s lemon, water and sugar. I had Goi Cuon, crispy spring rolls as an appetizer. Nice.
The Ga Xao Xa O’t, lemongrass chicken with chili sauce, was outstanding. I haven’t always been crazy about lemongrass. Why not use lemons, for example? But this dish answered it. Salty, sour, tangy, full of garlic with a killer chili spiciness. It was awesome.
I just regret not ordering the Ca Phe at the end, and promptly walking the wrong way in Jackson Heights. But, I walked the wrong way into the local Indian neighborhood and it looks so cool that I have to go back soon. Queens is secretly, or not so secretly, holding out on us.
The reviews on the JL421 Badonkadonk are great. Hopefully Zipcar will stock one in my neighborhood so I can finally take on that base of Tusken Raiders up on 93rd and 2nd.
http://www.amazon.com/JL421-Badonkadonk-Land-Cruiser-Tank/dp/B00067F1CE
“I’ll admit it. Shopping for a personal tank can be a bit daunting. Many times in the past I’ve purchased overpriced, so-called “battle tanks”, then driven them into battle only to be wrecked in ten minutes by the first blow off of some insurgents home-made morter.”
Dave, Alex and I went for a night of drinking in the East Village. Months of infant care and sobriety made me want a night out.
Dave had already been to Death and Co., but I wanted to try it out. It’s the catchy name. If it were called anything else, we probably wouldn’t have gone. Collectively, we ended up trying the Modern Mojito, Hot Buttered Rum, Rum Old Fashioned and Fancy Free. Modern Mojito: a cachaca Mojito with basil in to balance it out from being to sweet. Very good, but like all mojitos it just doesn’t pack much of a kick. Hot Buttered Rum: Alex is British enough to drink that. The rest of us were scared off. However, the only other Hot Buttered Rums that I’ve ever seen look like some idiot put butter in hot rum. This looked tasty and inviting like instant cappuchino. The Rum Old Fashioned was well done. Certainly had a kick to it. Dave pronounced it balanced. The Fancy Free is basically what you’d get if you tried making something like a Rye Old Fashioned with liquor standing in for the fruit.
We also tried some food. Alex had the crab cake bites with bouillabaisse. Basically four crab tatertots with a shotglass of fish stew behind each. I had the St. Jacques, the first legit seafood and cheese thing that I’ve ever tried.
All in all, I was impressed by the cocktails. They speak to the quality of the bartenders. The house drinks all sound like they’re going to be hideous, sweet monstrosities, but they’re not. I just feel bad for the woman next to us who ordered the vodka tonic. Something like that might get you tossed out.
We followed up with a trip to Grape and Grain for real dinner, which is funny since they don’t have entrees and funny since I had started out the night by saying “Grape or Grain but ne’er the twain. ” That sure went out the window. Appetizers, pizza, sandwiches and salads only. The food is still good. Good olive oil and good salt on stuff. We tried two wines, despite the fact I never wanted to touch booze again at that point. A good Reisling and a Spanish Rioja that I found totally unremarkable. I didn’t have much. At that point, I was able to just get a taxi to drag me home through the slush.
So, now Davin’s got food poisoning. It’s probably his fault. Probably something he ate at home or prepared himself carelessly. The Average Joe just has no regard for food safety.
I just can’t go back to the old diner. I can’t.
Davin and I went to the Plaza Diner in Fort Lee for lunch today. It’s impossible to say exactly what makes the Plaza better than the other diner we usually go to… oh wait, it’s everything being better. Everything! Fries, bread, meat, quality of cooking, iced tea. Everything: even the people in the room seem to be having more fun.
It also had entertainment today. The Korean place next door had the roof of its parking garage explode with a water leak. Things weren’t looking too good over there. The picture doesn’t do it justice, but the hole in the roof wasn’t there at the start and the white car didn’t having roofing materials blown over it.
JD made an awesome UNIX joke today:
LOCALE=Ç
We went to the theater and saw Wake Up Mr. Sleepy! Your Unconscious Mind Is Dead! at the Ontological Theater. If LSD had won out over TV, we’d be watching something like this every night.
So, basically, there’s this room with a bunch of words and letters on the wall and two screens showing actors from Lisbon who say things like “it could happen in my lifetime” and “it’s broken beyond repair.” And there’s this airplane with baby dolls coming out of the cockpit. And a bunch of open books. And four people in black uniforms wearing tombstone shapes on their backs. And uh a guy dressed as an old timey-aviator. And open books. And flowers… and uh that weird doll thing. And a sort of table.
And there is no narrative or plot, it’s just images and dialog associated with the sub-consciousness.
And a whole bunch of really weird crap happens, all of which is really familiar because it uses a lot of archetypal symbolic language that’s common in psychological exploration or at least get used in movies and art about the psychology of the mind. Maybe not keys and locks, but certainly snakes, playing cards, knives, doorways, airplanes full of babies, open books, hearts and dinner plates. And the lights blind the audience some times. And the actors stare and pose a lot and utter weird things through their big white gags like “Wrong again, Sweetie.”
For a lot of people, this sounds like a total art school nightmare. I know the lovely wife didn’t enjoy it. I thought it was great.
Dumpling Man, on St. Marks between 1st and A, has dumplings. I tried the seared pork. They were pretty plain. The sauce was a little bland. Next time I have to try the shrimp or the spicy ones. They looked better than what I had.