Metrograph Commissary, aka Hell

Alright, I’m about to get all suburban mom on y’all and I apologize in advance. I know I have the privilege, as a relatively average-looking white person, to be treated generally well when I enter customer service situations. But I also worked in service for seven years, including in fine dining. I know how to treat customers, even complete pieces of shit that make you wish voo doo worked. And, more importantly, I know how to treat people in service, and I know the necessity of giving them the benefit of the doubt because they may have just dealt with one of the aforementioned pieces of shit.

But litro, FUCK NEW YORK. Bae and I went to see the documentary Kedi, which, by the way, was cute as hell. I smiled so much during the film, which follows the street cats of Istanbul (like, are you kidding), that my cheeks were sore. The juxtaposition of the experience we had in the theater and the experience we had in the adjoining restaurant – oh sorry, commissary – was so stark that it was funnier than it was infuriating. But only by a little. So I was infuriated.

We made a reservation for 8:30, and the hostess gave us attitude right away. Bae and I were both like, okay, maybe it’s been a rough day for this rude-ass human. But then, we were led to the bar to wait for our table and almost smacked into George Michael Bluth. First sign the night was about to descend into a banana stand on fire.

We were seated after fifteen minutes, despite being right on time for our reservation, and despite the excruciatingly unhurried pace at which all of the staff were walking around the only partially occupied restaurant. Once she told us our table was ready and apologized with as much sincerity as Donald Trump saying, “There’s nobody that has more respect for women than I do,” Bae good-naturely responded with “No worries, it happens.”

She literally responded with “What happens?” Like, did you just start this job within the last hour? Also, are you an actual toddler?

Once she sat us, we remained at our table without menus or water for more than fifteen minutes. We glanced around at the waitstaff, floating about like blackflies inching towards death, but we were aggressively ignored by all. Finally I sheepishly (but overtly) waved at the hard-hearted harpy robot that was the hostess, and she lit-er-al-ly smiled right at me and kept walking only to lean on the hostess stand like a deflating bounce house.

We ended up leaving passive aggressively without looking at or speaking to her and proceeding to New York’s finest dining establishment, Shanghai Cafe Deluxe.

Anyway, protip: don’t eat at a restaurant that calls itself a fucking commissary or everyone will treat you like shit, unless you’re George Michael Bluth.

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Christmas, I’m On My Period Edition

My best friend accompanied us down for Christmas this year, so we have a full house. Lucky for everyone, we’re both on our period! #hormones  #bloated #NSYNC

To be accurate, we’re both pretty much done at this point, but instead of posting about my period I’ve been binge-watching Arrested Development with my family and farting up a storm. Because of the #fullerhouse, I’m sharing a bed with my mom, so I have to hold my farts in all night to spare her! Because I’m so #selfless.

The only restaurant open in my mom’s nabe last night was The World’s Most Mediocre Indian Restaurant, at which we spent the entire meal attempting to convince ourselves of the edibility of the food in front of us. We might’ve succeeded were it not for the roach that scurried across the carpet toward our booth in horrifying pursuit as we were waiting for the check. We were the only customers there, but somehow that made our shrieking and leaps onto the booth all the more embarrassing in front of the restaurant staff. Literal actual PTSD.

I thought I was going to write more but as it turns out, it’s 12:18 AM already.

Salad

Honestly I don’t think I really *~got~* salad until last night. Salads are always like $12 at restaurants and I’m like, why would I spend MORE money on fewer calories?

Um, because SALAD DRESSING bitches. I inadvertently bought gluten-free (ugh) vegan (ugh) dressing because it was on sale but DAMN. Brianna’s Rich Poppy Seed dressing. I want to bathe in it.

I decided to give salad a chance because spinach was on sale at the grocery store. Unfortunately it was going bad so I had to use all of it – it’s gonna be a lot of farts today. Everything else I bought was on sale too – that’s another benefit of salad is that you can just throw random shit in and it’s fine. I used: spinachnectarineswalnutsradishes, chickpeas, actually that’s all the ingredients I used. I guess I should be less proud of myself.

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That actually looks pretty decent. I guess it’s time to join Pinterest!

Broccoli Stir Fry

I am way too proud of myself for something that took less than 10 minutes to make, but Jesus I feel like a hero. I had leftover sushi rice from when I was being a fat ass and Seamless-ed both a special sushi roll AND a salmon bowl, so I was literally one of those hibachi chefs who make onion volcanos and throw knives and shit.


(I’m a goddess)

I started with a straight-up block of frozen broccoli in hot olive oil (I don’t have peanut oil) and three cloves of garlic because I’m an ogre (yes this is for one serving for one person). My roommates buy ginger in massive jars so I put some of that in there, then I put the rice in. I’d already put a bunch of soy sauce in the rice for some reason so I didn’t add any more.

Then I got culinary as fuck and added honey and cayenne pepper and then some sriracha for good measure. And then I cracked an egg in for pRoTeIn or whatever and now I’m eating all of it right now.

I basically just ate cheese constantly all weekend and week so hopefully this will make my poop less weird.

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(I have become garlic)

Mac & Cheez Part Deux

Apparently you’re actually supposed to tell people how to make these things??? If you’re gonna write a blog, be useful and all that??

The problem is that I’m not very precise when I cook because ain’t nobody got time for that so I’ll do my best.

I made almost a cup of dry quinoa and used two cups of dry vegetable pasta to start, and the pasta I didn’t cook QUITE all the way because you cook it again later in the cheese. I just cook the quinoa in the rice cooker. And grate a shitload of cheese – I used a block of cheddar and then like a third of a block of more cheddar so something like 10 or 12 ounces?

Then you melt half a stick of salted butter and stir in a little less than 1/4 cup of flour. I used half whole wheat flour. And also beat an egg on the side. Like I said, you have to stir like 12 things at once. Stir and cook the flour mixture for 5 mins (it will set your smoke alarm off if you don’t keep stirring it) and then put 2 cups of milk (whole, obvi) in. Also spices and shit – I put fresh garlic, chili powder, paprika and cayenne pepper – and then stir/cook THAT for 5 minutes (like literally never have to work out again). Then you stir a small amount (like 1/4 cup will do) of the flour mixture into the egg so the egg doesn’t cook, then put the whole egg mixture into the flour mixture and, you guessed it, stir. Then you put the cheese in!!!!! Yasssssssssssssssss

And then you mix in the pasta and quinoa and go to town on that motherfucker

Macaroni & Cheese

I’m starting to think that I should probably open a restaurant because I’m innovative as fuq in the kitchen. I kind of hate myself for taking the most perfect food in the world and adding healthy shit to it, but if I’m gonna spend a bunch of money on cheese and carbs I have to add some nutrients because otherwise I could just buy $1 pizza and eat a carrot at the same time.

Last week I built houses for Habitat for Humanity which was pretty hard work, AND I burned myself on a drill bit, so I feel like I deserve to drown myself in cheese forever.

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(I’m like a war hero at this point)

I went and got veggie macaroni (barf) and used the rest of my roommate’s quinoa (barf) to make a hybrid bougie/plebian dish. Btw, mac & cheese is weirdly complicated? It’s like chemistry class because you put flour and butter together and it’s somehow thicker than both things, and then you add milk and it gets even thicker??? ??? Synergy or something??????????? I couldn’t take any pictures because I had to stir like 10 things at a time so sorry no stupid looking pictures.

Honestly I can’t be that snarky about this because it tastes like it came right out of God’s asshole.

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