Washing Up

I haven't written for a while...
mainly because I have too many random thoughts running through my mind at any one time to select a particular tidbit on which to focus. Furthermore I have discovered that I am a respository of useless information. Still I feel that I should find an outlet so that I can keep my verbal arsenal ripe for potential sparring, scarring and other actions beginning with "s" (note the alliteration).

Also, I admit to being notoriously scatterbrained and almost luddite in my uses and abuses of technology. Yes, this despite working for a tech start up.

Ok back to the subject line. Today, I washed up about five times. Four of those times sans gloves. I also burned my finger when making banana bread so the sting of the washing up liquid was a rather uncomfortable sensation.

Perhaps I am a little compulsive when it comes to cleanliness...but that only benefits the people whose kitchens I frequent on a regular basis.

When washing up, I realized a few things.

1) Sieves are absolute HORRORS to wash up. It requires a process so much more complicated than merely wash, squirt, scrub, wash etc. This must be repeated several times. If someone gave me a sink of sieves to wash, they would end up with a sieve shaped bruise on their head.
Grrr.
I hate sieves.
(maybe more than I hate people who cut the crusts off bread)

2) Plates and cutlery are quite pleasurable to wash. Cleaning these items make the chore rather therapeutic. They are so easy. So much surface area to allow for quick'n'easy drying. Sometimes I only require a swipe of the wash cloth to remove the straggling water drops from the surface.

3) Shallow bowls are also quite pleasurable to wash. No - more to dry. For some reason, I find it calming to caress the belly of the bowl with my wash cloth in large sweeping strokes. It is the opposite of scrubbing, so I like to alternate between clean-ish shallow bowls and plates on which globs of hardened chocolate have found homes.

On a side note - I realized that it is much harder to take naps at furniture shops here than it is in the US. Sometimes people give you evil looks for sprawling yourself out on a sofa a few minutes too long. In this case, I return the favour with my bone-chilling death stare.
Hey, I lived in Russia, people...that's what you do.

Feet

Today, I had an epiphany. A shocking one, but an epiphany nevertheless.

I looked at my feet.
They were....unlike the rest of me...really quite gross. I won't go into details, because I just ate lunch and would rather not waste my $8 gourmet sandwich - which is better in my stomach than on my jeans. (TMI much? yeah....whatever)

Conclusion: feet are gross.

Is that a generalization?

Not really. Almost everyone I know complains about their feet. I know one person who demands that everyone hide their feet under a blanket because she can't stand the sight of them. Foot fetishists must be really twisted people. I could cure them of their fetish by showing them my tootsies. In fact, I could probably make podiatrists out of them by shoving my foot in their faces.

Still, this does mean that I am eager to cover the evidence. Today, the evidence is covered with Steve Madden. Yesterday, it was covered with black leather gore-tex riding boots. The day before, ditto. At home, I am partial to Ugg slippers or these funky Chinese things my mum brought back from somewhere in Asia.

My total expenditure on shoes is only second to that on Dean and Deluca's chocolate babka. I swear that stuff must have been made by the devil and infused with temptation in edible form. I am pretty disciplined about desserts these days but I have been known to polish off an ENTIRE babka in one sitting. Cinnamon - meh. Chocolate - irresistible.

But hey, I'd rather have gross feet than a gross face.

This has nothing to do with carbs. However, it is still a dilemma. Of not insignificant proportions.

Tomorrow: My thoughts on people who walk around food shops and compose entire meals of samples. I admit to doing that at COSI the other day. Ten samples of chocolate bagel later, I wondered why I had bought anything. Also, my experiment in doing so at a major food outlet in New York.

Ode to the Salt Bagel

OK that is a bit of a cheat (as a title) because I don't have the brain power/will power to compose a magnificent ode to the king of bagels -- that has been usurped by an impostor of the cinnamon raisin variety.

Let me first lay out my analysis of the Bagel family:
Pretender: Cinnamon Raisin
King: Salt
Queen: Plain (ideally Challah)
Princess: Poppyseed
Neurotic Princess: Whole Wheat
Schizophrenic Princess: Everything
Prince: Sesame
Slave: Onion (I am really against the idea of bastardizing a bagel with onion. Morning breath is bad enough).

Pretty self explanatory, no?

Now, I would like to take this opportunity to lament the lack of Salt Bagels populating the streets and delis of New York. Today, I entered no fewer than FIVE delis and discovered -to my utmost horror- that there were NO SALT BAGELS. Every other member of the bagel family was present. Queen, Pretender, Princess, Neurotic Princess, Schizophrenic Princess, Prince, and Slave...all were there. With a variety of cream cheeses to crown them, from lox, to tofutti.

[Personally, I like my bagels before coronation. Much easier to deal with.]

At Cosi, they even had an Obese Princess (that's what I'll christen the Chocolate Chip Bagel). The Obese Princess was pretty damn good, I must say, but still not quite at the level of the Bagel King.

So wherefore art thou, Salt Bagel? Isn't New York meant to be famous for these delicious-but probably lethal for your kidneys-creations, brought over from Europe to fill the stomachs of New Yorkers every morning? Or are people becoming so health conscious they'll take the Princess when they could have the King?

This is certainly a subject for further consideration.
An article on the demise of a former New York staple beckons.

Yet all is not lost. There are several outlets which do indeed have what I seek.

Leo's Bagels, in FiDi has a most delicious, and fluffily and beautifully encrusted salt bagel.

Murray's Bagels, all over the village and Chelsea, have a similarly eye-popping creation. Their lines are too long for my weak stamina. As there is a baked good stand next door, I frequently cave in to the lure of chocolate muffins.

Zaro's Bakery, with locations throughout the city, is decent if you REALLY have a craving. Otherwise, avoid. Unless you like eating rubber. Which is what bagels become if they are a few days old.

Breadstix cafe, at 23rd and 8th street, has a similar story. Their bagels are also extremely tiny. I apologize for the lack of hyperlink.

A delicious bagel shop located at the corner of Remsen and Henry(?) in Brooklyn Heights is where I had my salt bagel epiphany, but the name escapes me at present.

I may have to resort to this to find more outside of the Chelsea/Downtown area.

So for now, no ode - just (very eloquent) complaining.