The NYC Food Diaries

Part Girls, part Grub Street. A 20-something and her friends' postgrad anecdotes across New York's food scene.

[nycfooddiaries]

Toast | 2737 Broadway (Broadway between 104th and 105th streets)

They call it Toast downtown, but it's barely. A restaurant that boasts great sandwiches and burgers for less-than-$10 (and yes, it's sit-down), its sister location is just 20 streets up. I went that location last summer with two friends from college and two alumni in the city. I remember it being a misplaced dinner at best. I just didn't feel at ease for whatever reason.

Toast is slowly redeeming itself from that standard as I often suggest the "downtown" location to friends looking for a good, cheap eat by my apartment. But at the start, it was the scene of many tense conversations — I had two particularly dramatic dinners there with my friend from Brooklyn. We'd sit at the dimly lit table and somehow between the heated words, I'd break out laughing. "This is ridiculous, isn't it?"

Oh, it was. But there was nothing ridiculous about the quality of food and prices. Munching on a $8.95 mozzarella, basil, tomato and red pepper sandwich, I couldn't believe how good, filling and lovely the meal was. I took friends after a Memorial Day picnic; I went two nights ago with a high school friend visiting. The meals have gotten lighter emotionally, but the quality has remained consistently high throughout. Cheers to redemption and the positive power of time and change. Drama may come and go, but good food stays ... I hope at least!

[nycfooddiaries]

The Mermaid Inn | 568 Amsterdam Ave. (Amsterdam Ave., between 88th and 87th streets)

When we met Jon, he was a personality. Eccentric, charismatic, charming, unfiltered fun. A friend of a college friend in town during her spring break, he hung with us at a bar on the Upper West Side. So when he asked about getting brunch (or I did, it's hard to recall who) a weekend or two later, we went to his favorite place. I've been back two times since.

My friend Mina and I joined him as he talked about going to school in North Carolina, living in Maryland and his unreal job (and the celebrities he met on it) I ordered the French toast after admiring the typography on the place's well-designed menu. It was a classy oyster-bar-turned restaurant (there is purely a sister oyster bar elsewhere in the city) — very light and preppy in decor. I ate the French toast and remembered it was decent — soft, sweet — but nothing extraordinary. And I was always on the quest for extraordinary French toast.

I've gone back two times recently, however, looking for good, modern Upper West Side brunch places for friends. I reevaluated then — I could never bring myself to order the buttermilk pancakes. And well, the French toast got better each time I went. I suspect it will continue to.

The Mermaid Inn isn't a place I'd distinctly frequent, but it's become a welcome ground for new friends, be them visiting or just met along the way. Want an upscale UWS brunch for less than $15? A perfect location. Sitting at the outside tables, munching on the bread they give before courses, friends and I are reminded of how fortunate we are to be in New York — for months or for a day. The Mermaid Inn is a sunny welcome, as embracing as the man who introduced me to it.

[nycfooddiaries]

Pepe Verde | 559 Hudson Street (Hudson Street between 11th and Perry streets)

It was the greatest less-than-$10 establishment I knew in the city. In March, a friend from college recommended the adorable, hole-in-the-wall Italian place. I went a week or two later with my friend from Brooklyn — we went to the counter and ordered our pastas, munched on bread while waiting and then ate. I had a simple penne ricotta and spinach dish. Sure, it lacked the jazz of a sit-down, full Italian restaurant, but it was quality substance. The price made me smile, anyway.

We'd have a friend's good-bye dinner there around the beginning of May. Her semester at school was done, and as far as we knew, she was headed home for the summer. So we all sat at a table, seven girls, eating pasta and avoiding the inevitable fact that our group would be down one very shortly. Comfort food, that's what it was. We left and wandered the streets of West Village after, snapping group pictures, admiring Carrie Bradshaw's supposed apartment with our Miranda-lookalike and ending the night with ice cream at the Big Gay Ice Cream Shop. 

Whenever friends wanted a cheap dinner, I'd suggest going there. So last week, when a group of friends (including the one who introduced me to Pepe Verde) said they'd do dinner as long as it was inexpensive, out came my ace: Pepe Verde. And then the dreaded text: it CLOSED. I couldn't believe it — didn't want to anyway. But a Google search and news article confirmed the tragedy. Now we're set to go to sister restaurant Pepe Rosso this Friday. But will it be the same? A cozy West Village gem gone. New York and life are always changing, but sometimes in the solemn moments, you remember what's lost and that few things are ever really permanent.

[nycfooddiaries]

Deluxe | 2896 Broadway (Broadway, between 112th and 113th streets)

It was the restaurant that started it all. In the summer of 2011, my dad and I pulled up to Columbia University. Looking out at Morningside Drive, I was in awe of the area and my first summer in the city. If this was New York, a place with actual green and air, it couldn't be that bad. We unloaded and unpacked in my dorm and then went to grab a meal nearby. We found Deluxe walking down Broadway. Sitting outside at the American diner's tables, we cheered to the fact I had secured an internship in the city. The next year, we were back, celebrating a second and a semester in Paris.

Deluxe is a place that marks the beginning. It's quality, high-end diner fare. Each time I go, I gravitate to the same dishes: either French toast for brunch (they have multiple varieties, but my favorite is the "Deluxe" French toast with caramelized banana) or their Asian chicken salad for dinner (big, filling and less than $15). It's never too crowded, a short walk from my dorm (and apartment now) and embodies the summers at Columbia where I'd often bring friends. We were college students, and Deluxe was where we could get a quality, inex-terribly-pensive meal.

I have too many stories there with the people who visited me where we'd laugh over milkshakes or burgers (theirs, not mine). Deluxe has always been a feel-good place though. You never forget your first, and Deluxe was mine even if I don't go too often anymore. All the same, cheers to history — the many times before and the more certainly ahead.

[nycfooddiaries]

Le Grainne Cafe | 183 9th Avenue (9th Avenue and 21st Street)

In the thawing of winter, a friend who worked in Chelsea and I were trying to figure out where to meet. After some extensive research, I stumbled on Le Grainne Cafe on Yelp. Became super excited. As someone who studied abroad in Paris, the idea of light French cuisine warmed my Paris-nostalgic heart. After a time change (evening to morning), we ended up meeting at a Starbucks instead, and I wouldn't get to try the restaurant until a month later. It was the end of March and my friend Clare was in town during her spring break to do interviews and secure housing. We ate there together, and I ordered the croque monsieur, craving the melt-in-your-mouth Paris staple (country bread, ham, cheese and butter) I just couldn't find elsewhere in this city. The atmosphere was very homey, a throwback to European cafes. Service was lax, the baguette was fresh and soft (a rarity in this country!) and we weren't rushed out. I checked my phone at one point against the candlelight. It was such a quiet evening, but I got a big bang about the death of a friendship I thought would never die through text message. At that point, Le Grainne couldn't just be dismissed as a smooth, no-action place.

I've been at Le Grainne twice since with other friends and more than the food, it's the people and stories waiting for the entrees I remember: the friend with a friend in town who I sat across the table from, desperately trying to find some point we both clicked on (and failing, proving to me what I once believed was impossible: some people aren't connectable); the reunion with two friends from last summer and a friend from high school and our walk to Hell's Kitchen after, talking about the people we were fighting to keep in our lives ...

Heavy and French, the emotional components set against light sandwiches and entrees. More so than trying to recapture Europe, Le Grainne became the place where I'd rekindle relationships: be them stalled friendships (due to distance) or new ones. It'd become a place of reevaluating what it means to be a close friend — and how much pain we all endure, sharing collectively our stories, as we try to salvage relationships that distance, physical or emotional, eat away at.

[nycfooddiaries]

Thai Select | 472 9th Avenue #A (9th Avenue, between 36th and 37th Streets)

The first time we go to Thai Select, my group's favorite place for Friendsday because of its great cocktails and low prices, it's the end of March. I'm about to move — just days from it — into my new apartment. My job begins the next week. And that dinner marks the end of winter, all of us at a table together. My group begins as scattered friends of mine. We come together Valentine's Day and from there, continue. Just a month later, we're getting drinks together and hanging out once a week at least. Multiple times now.

The first time I go to Thai Select, I get a mango fruit salad and am taken by its colorful presentation. The second time I stop by, just last week in May, I get fruit fried rice. Every dish the place serves is bright and verdant. Service is quick, prices are low, quality is high. 

We sit at the back from 7 to 9, chatting, laughing, reflecting on the season ahead (in March, spring; in May, summer). Things are constantly changing, but we're still together and closer. We still have our table, our rainbow dishes and drinks. Thai Select is more than a dinner venue. It's our dinner spot, our place to unite, reflect and savor a little consistency in a constantly moving and progressing city — in our constantly moving and progressing postgrad lives. I expect to spend many more evenings there, or hope I do at least (and luckily, their long menu will keep us plenty entertained dish-wise).

[nycfooddiaries]

Má Pêche | 15 West 56th Street (56th Street, between 5th and 6th Avenues)

It was one of those authentically New York days, a moment where you'd announce to the skyscrappers in midtowns, "only in this glorious city." The day before, after some lamenting and general worry about my current status (about to start a job, about to move, about to start a new chapter and close an old one), I found myself at a twist of fate holding two tickets to a movie screening. I was in a Starbucks, waiting for my subway card to recharge after swiping my subway card, realizing I lost my glove and going back to retrieve it. A guy comes up, asks if I want his ticket. He gives it to me, I thank him somewhat skeptically. My last encounter with a stranger in Starbucks, after all, was when two French kids tried to steal my iPhone in Paris. I text my friend Emily and see if she wants to go.

She does. We do the next day. After the screening, where we announce "only in New York," and discuss how we're so glad we live in this incredible place, we're hungry and want to get something to small to eat before meeting her friends downtown. I find Má Pêche on Urban Spoon. Having always wanted to try one of Milkbar's restaurants (and amused at how close it was), I go. She wants a meal with a little more substance, but I can't resist the banana custard coated with what I believe was hazelnut shavings (though I can't quite recall now).

It's decadent, and I have to document it. I carry it with me in the city's thawing, March weather and enjoy it indoors a couple minutes later in a Europa Cafe. We discuss our relationships with people and this city. There's a bit of anxiety for me and uncertainty. I'm still fragile. But somehow, slowly scooping the custard, I know it's going to be OK. This city knocked me down, but little moments here and there sweep me up and away, reassure me there's something enchanting and for me in New York after all. Maybe, just maybe, we are meant to be.

[nycfooddiaries]

Kitchenette | 1272 Amsterdam Ave. (Amsterdam Avenue and 123rd Street)

It was the end of March when my friend Emily and I went to Kitchenette, walking along Morningside Drive from my then-apartment. My life was on the cusp of change: I was moving and beginning a job in just a week. The city was starting to bloom, and spring, after an eternal winter, was almost here. We couldn't imagine our lives in a month, but we knew they were going to be better. That's what we announced, walking down on the hill back.

At the restaurant before though, we sat at a booth with three seats (the staff seemed a little annoyed we hogged the table). Polka dots and girly decor surrounded us. Emily struggled a bit but settled on the crème brûlée French toast our waiter recommended as something authentically Kitchenette. The French toast itself was rich but slightly disappointing. After having Jane's take on the crème brûlée spin (which was far softer, moister and generous), the bar was set high. Kichenette didn't quite meet up to it: it was good but hard, reasonable serving-wise but a little high in price.

We paid for our meal and left the place. It was a feminine, quirky excursion but like our lives, so close to transition and change that day, we were happy to leave it behind as just a good memory with better ahead.

[nycfooddiaries]

Cafeteria | 119 7th Avenue (17th Street and 7th Avenue)

The best day in New York began at Cafeteria, a white, trendy restaurant in Chelsea I found through minimum New York magazine searching in summer 2011. My two middle school best friends, Matt (of the wild hipster, Alice's Tea Cup fame) and Nicole (one of the two friends staying with me who went to OTTO and Soy and Sake) had come up for the day. We went to the restaurant, the three of us, to get lunch. Matt ordered lemon ricotta pancakes; Nicole and I got a heirloom tomato-mozzarella salad. We spent the day after wandering all over New York, walking from Chelsea to the Village, from the Village to SoHo and Chinatown. We rode up to Rockefeller Center, walked up to the Upper East Side along Fifth Avenue gazing at designer stores, crossed the park to the west side and had dinner at my favorite Italian restaurant that evening. It was a day where the only thing that went wrong, I'd realize at the end up by Columbia, sitting in the Hungarian Pastry Shop, was that it was ending. I had no worries that day, and I spent the time with my two best friends laughing and just soaking up the city. My internship was almost over, and I had done well; I was going back to school, but I wasn't graduating for another year. There was nothing to immediately worry about, and it was beautiful.

The second year, I had my first dinner back in the city at Cafeteria. I rode down and met two friends in a bit of ecstacy at being back after a year. I had just come back from Paris, but New York was always in my heart. I was afraid I wouldn't love it as much, the city I had decided I'd make my life in. But my fears were wrong: I loved it all the more and the rush consumed me. It fit like a glove, New York, and I fell back naturally into the old swing of things, a swing and comfort it took me months to earn that first summer. I hit resume on our relationship, and I couldn't be giddier it wasn't a restart.

I had a grilled peach salad sprinkled with arugula and goat cheese that night. After, my two friends and I wandered to the Chelsea High Line. Smiled for a picture signaling the start of the summer, the greatest summer I'd ever had.

I had a brunch for my Ed2010 chapter at Cafeteria a couple weeks later. And I sat there at a white, long table at one of my most successful Ed2010 events, chatting with friends and waving to others at the end of the table who couldn't quite see me. That day (and night) became an adventure, kicked off with a plate of lemon ricotta pancakes.

Cafeteria was one of the restaurants that remains on my shortlist of places to take people. The breakfast and lunch menu is infinitely better than the dinner menu still, but the prices were solid nonetheless no matter which one you ordered from. But Cafeteria wasn't only my shortlist restaurant, it was Nicole's too.

On Nicole and her friend's last day, the Monday after St. Patrick's Day, we made plans to get our final meal together there. We sat at the restaurant, and the two discussed how during their day trips to New York City, Cafeteria had always been the place they made a point to eat in. The lemon ricotta pancakes were just that good. So we sat there and talked about people, talked about friend conflicts and the fact that as seniors, would it be worth it in the long run to let drama like that ruin our year? No one ever wants to let go and give up on relationships. It looks like the selfish route when they're backed by years of history. But sometimes, we all agreed, when a friend is nothing but toxic, it's right to take ownership and not give them the pleasure of tainting our memories. Sometimes you have to let go in order to ensure the best path forward. 

I slowly ate my pancakes during the discussion. It was real, and it was quality. Cafeteria had always been a spot of good memories for me — and for others. Some of my best days in the city started at that open 24/7 restaurant. Nicole and her roommate raved about Cafeteria the entire trip, and it didn't disappoint them. And that morning, as we left to head off to SoHo after, it didn't disappoint me. 

Cafeteria's food is great, but it isn't superlative. The restaurant is a wonderful place for company, but it isn't number one on my list. Still, some top events and most of my top days started there, and for that good luck, Cafeteria will always remain a favorite and good spot in my heart and others', too.

[nycfooddiaries]

Soy and Sake | 47 7th Ave. S #1 (between Bleecker and Morton Streets)

Restaurant researching had always been a labor of love for me, and finding good, new restaurants to try with $10-15 price tags was a mission I'd spend hours doing. Shuffling between New York magazine, Yelp and UrbanSpoon, I'd narrow choices by location. Only settled for critic's picks. Then I'd check the menu to confirm the fabled low prices and see if anything excited me. Soy and Sake was a curious case: when I came upon the vegetarian Japanese cafe, I was absolutely intrigued. I never had soy anything before, but with so many interesting "chicken" dishes on the menu, I had to give it a go.

My friend from Brooklyn and I met there on a snowy February night the first time. I had a bit of trouble finding it, but once I did, I settled into the dimly lit place. To the left of me was an aquarium. Couples chatted at the tables directly in front of me. I ordered the mango chicken with a side of brown rice that night, not quite sure what to expect. It arrived, I tasted it, and it wasn't quite chicken, no. But it was an invigorating taste nonetheless, and I found the plate quite enjoyable. I decided I'd come back, certainly. I couldn't quite pin what it was, but it struck me as good, the entire experience.

So when my friends were in town the other week, I pitched the restaurant as a place for an affordable, trendy dinner in West Village on St. Patrick's Day. The one's family owned a sushi restaurant so she wanted to do standard Japanese. We went and met Emily and another friend in the city for dinner after a cool day walking in midtown. I was so relieved; the cold had become a bit too much. Emily and my two friends staying got drinks: fruity combos. As we all laughed, talked about our days and upbringings, our food arrived. Everyone who has come to Soy and Sake with me has always been a little put off by the soy-everything option. They were all a bit hesitant eating and concluded the taste wasn't quite what it was posing as. It wasn't quite chicken, but it was still good. The sushi wasn't quite whatever it was pretending to be, but it was still decent.

We ate, made plans to go meet our third friend's friend at a bar on the Upper West Side and then headed out to 7th Avenue. I led the way to the subway in the chilly wind. I don't think by any stretch the restaurant was a favorite of the people I ate with, but it still made passable grades. I, on the other hand, will always be intrigued by it. Its food wasn't quite what it pretended to be, whether it was chicken or shrimp. But somehow in it, it became something else delicious, adventurous and different from every other Japanese restaurant that lined the block.

[nycfooddiaries]

OTTO Enoteca Pizzeria | 1 Fifth Avenue (just north of Washington Square Park)

It was the end of summer 2011, my first summer in the city, when I stepped off the train platform at West 4th for the first time. As someone who took the 1 train constantly from work at Columbus Circle, lettered trains threw me off. I thought the service was lackluster, and the trains themselves inconsistent and dirty. They're all I take today.

The station was grimy, and the area was a maze, but somehow I had to find my way out to OTTO for an event I planned for students from my school interning. It was a dinner for members of our university's Ed2010 chapter, of which I was vice president. I expected quite a turnout, Facebook said so much, and I had to call days in advance to put in a group reservation. But as the text cancellations poured in when I asked for confirmation that day, my dinner count quickly dwindled. One cancelled, a second couldn't get off, no response from the third and fourth ...

In the end, there were four of us. I expected over 10.

Still, as we stood in the lobby of OTTO, an Italian restaurant designed to resemble a trendy train station, and waited for our full party to arrive (they only seat full parties), I couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and failure: excitement that some came, failure that, as people typically do, many more flaked out. So much planning had gone into the event: I asked for restaurant recommendations from an alumni, who raved about OTTO's great food and prices. I made a Facebook event, I sent out confirmation texts and text invitations. I put in a call to make a reservation and was on hold forever as Italian music flourished in the background. So much effort ...

The evening was still a success. Three girls and I all sat around a table in the noisy backroom (OTTO has excellent, ample space for groups). We munched on sourdough as we waited for our pizzas to arrive: pizzas that were the perfect size for one to enjoy and only $10. I had margherita pizza, and we all got gelato as per the alum's recommendation. And it was out of this world. I left that night, concluding OTTO made my shortlist of restaurants to take people with its astounding quality and small price tag.

I came back once or twice the next summer with friends. There was one night it was downpouring when we left. We decided to go out those revolving doors into the monsoon after watching it for 15 minutes. And I, in a pair of soaked heels and an umbrella, model strutted to the Christopher Street station to get the 1 back uptown. Laughing because even in the midst of weather absurdity, I found beauty. There was so much happiness then. It was summer.

Since moving to the city, I've been to OTTO twice, most recently last week. I had friends (and my father) in town, and we met at OTTO after my father and I finished our apartment hunt. We sat at the table, the four of us, and enjoyed pasta and pizza. I got a pesto dish, whose diminutive size I admired (I love how unlike most restaurants, OTTO gives reasonable portions one can eat in one sitting). We all split gelato after: caramel, passion fruit sorbet and banana. The girls with me told me, at the end of their trip, that was the best dessert they had. 

My dad had to head to catch a bus home, so he left dinner early. He gave me a hug in the restaurant and set off. It was a surreal night: I had applied for an apartment. We walked to West 4th after, me and my company, and hopped on the train back uptown. So much and so little had changed since I first went there two years ago as an intern and sophomore. As I looked back at the place, lit up in the cool March night, I knew one thing would remain consistent no matter what came my way: I'd be back, and there would be more stories at the restaurant's round tables.

[nycfooddiaries]

Shake Shack | 366 Columbus Ave (at 77th and Columbus)

Last night, I met with up with my friend Alex, who's studying in the city for the semester, for a light dessert. We were excited at the price tag for a single scoop of custard — less than $4 — and the day's flavor, s'mores. Even though I had lived in New York for the past two summers, I had always avoided Shake Shack. I first encountered the place as a sophomore touring magazines on a college club trip in the city; some friends in our group went to the location off Madison Avenue, and the line was long, and the food was greasy. I'm not a hamburger and fries person in the least, so I skipped out on the venture and really didn't see much of a reason to go to the restaurant ever, even as it popped up across the city and even beyond it (Washington, D.C., the city closest to my hometown). So last night, while looking for an ice cream place on the Upper West Side, when I saw it come across the top of Urban Spoon's list and imagined the location wouldn't have long lines, I pitched it. And I'm glad I did.

Alex informed me custard was more of a midwestern thing, and it was prepared a little differently than soft serve ice cream (less calories? We'd Google) To her, the custard we had didn't have a distinctly custard taste, but it was still delicious. There were bits of graham cracker that took us both by surprise and swirls of marshmallow. I'm not a chocolate fan, but I figured as I could tolerate two thirds of the ingredients of s'mores, I'd be just fine. And I did quite enjoy the treat. I'd go back for sure to try the other daily, changing flavors (especially at that price!) I've never been a strictly vanilla person.

While there, we talked about everything, from being a Cosmo girl (despite neither of us overtly being; we're both going in magazines, and I worked there my first summer. I love that magazine and what it stands for even if at first glance, it is the antithesis of what I come off as) to our love of Stars to yes, the future. April is going to be better, we decided on the cool March night. We weren't in the best place, either of us, as we were juggling a lot. I mentioned I had learned a lot about myself this year, and the more I learned, the less I realized I really knew. But she didn't see this as concerning. "You should always surprise yourself," she told me. "If you're not, you're not growing." She was right.

I told her I had this fear of having it all, that having it all couldn't exist without the universe poised to strike down something. There had been moments in the past where it looked dangerously close I'd have everything: the dream internship, dream friends, dream city and the guy. And they terrified me. "I was going to lose something," I told her. "And I did." I paused, smiled. "The guy, naturally."

We laughed. But you could have it all, she said, but not everything would be completely perfect. It's better that way. "The moment you become completely content with your life," she mused, "you're on the road to complete boredom." It wasn't to say some parts shouldn't be right, she clarified, but a certain laziness and ennui comes when everything is; you stop working to improve things and lose sight of what's around you. "There should always be parts of life that surprise you. Otherwise, what's the point?"

She stopped momentarily, scrapped her spoon around the bottom of her empty custard cup. The crowd around us, which we had fought for a table against, had died down. It was about 10 p.m., and we had come at 8. She shared one last thought. "Even when you have it all, you should never stop going for more."

The words echoed as I walked to the subway minutes later, staring up at the lights of the American Museum of Natural History. I had Stars playing, and I mouthed the words I love you to a city that for as many times had pushed me down had twice as many lifted me up.

[nycfooddiaries]

Cones | 272 Bleecker St (by 7th Ave. S)

During my first summer in New York, I found my dessert bible (and the site that would become my restaurant review soulmate) in New York magazine's "So Long Mr. Softee" piece. I'd reference that article throughout my two summers in the city when choosing places to go try with friends (granted I always stayed in Manhattan and usually stuck to Sundaes and Cones for ice cream). Cones didn't make the cut, but that site taught me the difference between Pinkberry and something a little more extraordinary. Since then, I've always sought the latter on my food quest with friends. After all, we're in New York. Why get something you can get anywhere else in the country (or even internationally)?

Tonight, after seeing Cones recommended as a cheap West Village dessert place on Yelp and passing the place itself, I proposed to my Brooklyn friend we meet there to get ice cream. It was a rainy yet warm day, and he hoisted my pistachio sugar cone when I remembered halfway through I was supposed to document it. It had a rich taste to it, and I had been between it and coconut. Both of the flavors I had before at Sundaes and Cones, and to be honest, despite Cones raving its South American, artisan ice cream touch, I didn't notice much of a taste difference (though there was a bit of a price; Cones was a tad higher and cash only) — both places served great versions, and I almost found myself preferring the familiar Sundaes and Cones down the street.

Nevertheless, in the shop, we discussed subjectivity, religion and politics. We talked about our respective studies, and it felt quite intellectual, two well-dressed people in a retro, '90s-esque ice cream shop (very Clarissa Explains It All). We walked along 7th Avenue South after, debating what it means to have fun. I told him I felt like outings were like pictures: you snap it and see how the film develops later. You might not realize you have something extraordinary going on in the moment but later on, upon reviewing, you realize that day was pretty solid and special. Tonight was one of those nights, I believe, as solidly decent as the ice cream we ate.

[nycfooddiaries]

Caffe Dante | 79-81 McDougal Street (near Bleecker Street)

Saturday I met two friends I studied abroad in Paris with, one from Canada who was in the city for just a couple days (the genius and overall amazement got into law school here; I felt privileged to be part of her trip!) She and I caught up in this Italian coffee shop as we waited for our other friend to get to the Village. My friend had chocolate mousse, and I had my first cannoli for $4.15, and it was life changing.

The food, we agreed, was one of the best parts of New York and with so many options, it was hard to resist not going for that extraordinary sweet or meal. We discussed the difference between Paris and New York, which city we preferred and what vibe the people sent. We laughed, navigated that hard topic called the future that every 20-something is figuring out. Our other friend joined us, amazed and intrigued by the desserts too as we left, went to a store hosting different fashion booths from local vendors and then headed to Levain Bakery on the Upper West Side to get the most insane cookies any of us had eaten. We did two little desserts that day, and none of us regretted it.

[nycfooddiaries]

Sugar and Plumm | 377 Amsterdam Ave. (78th and Amsterdam Ave.)

During the summer (I believe it was summer anyway though it may have been December), I decided to walk home to 116th street from my internship at Columbus Circle. I walked along Amsterdam avenue and noticed the under construction sign for Sugar and Plumm. It looked downright adorable, and I vowed to come back someday when it opened.

I passed the open restaurant in February and made a mental note to look into it later. Finally, after stalking the website and seeing the insane desserts, I proposed to a friend from Brooklyn we eventually go there. Last Friday we did.

He came from a job interview, dressed sharply in varying shades of blue. I went in a cobalt, J Crew shift dress, accessorized with a light blue statement Anthropologie necklace and bow belt (the name dropping is necessary as this is New York, and fashion is as much a part of social life as food venue). It was a classy, cute evening where we discussed the future and the nice guy lament (and its absurdity).

I ordered the spinach salad, which had more memorable presentation than taste. The dried raspberries nearly reminded me of cereal, but I ate the healthy plate reserving my judgement until the end. After all, the goat cheese was a nice touch. My friend and I, half children, half adorable, split a banana split after, a huge little ice cream endeavor that included vanilla, chocolate and strawberry ice cream, bites of pineapple and peanut, and chocolate syrup-drizzled bananas. I took the strawberry, he took the chocolate and we split the vanilla (it was my first banana split ever). Truly a symphony of insanity and reason enough to go back. Next time, just dessert for the place but still a worthwhile trip!

[nycfooddiaries]

Crepes on Columbus | 990 Columbus Ave (between 108th and 109th streets and Columbus)

It was Wednesday, the night before my high school and postgrad friend was set to leave when we wandered into this small restaurant to get a quick dessert. The place was about to close — it was 10 p.m. — but the owner Steve was generous enough to ask two crepes be cooked for us to go. My friend got Nutella-strawberry, and I got caramelized apple with homemade caramel and crème fraîche. That time last year (and still), I had been in Paris studying abroad and interning at a fashion newspaper, and the memories the dessert evoked were bittersweet. We ate our crepes and watched Pretty Little Liars in my apartment across the street, two high school besties having an adult slumber party.

Two days later, I went back after a hard Friday just emailing and waiting to hear back from job interviews. My coffee date with a friend had been postponed. It was snowing, and I went in my green coat sans tights. I wondered why this city was doing this to me, snowing when it was supposed to be spring, but surrendered to the idea it was just East Coast weather. I sat at the place, eating my mandarin orange, caramel and crème fraîche-filled crepe, eavesdropping on Steve's conversations about how Manhattan Valley had changed over the years with another table. He was so kind to me when he took my order and his exemplary attention to all his customers (he went and talked with each table, however brief or long they wanted) was touching. Even in a hard city, he reminded me nice people were out there. Just a smile and sweet conversation could do as much to lift a mood as a well done, French dessert.

[nycfooddiaries]

Mud | 307 East 9th Street (between 9th and 1st and 2nd Avenues)

Last Tuesday, a high school and fellow postgrad friend came to visit. We were excited to meet Emily, a New York friend I made during my summers staying at Columbia, for a East Village literary reading and dessert after at Mud. How authentically New York of us! We went to the bar where the reading was to be held, only to learn it had been cancelled. The website just wasn't updated.

So my high school friend and I talked as we waited for Emily to arrive, trying to eavesdrop on the French group at the table beside us. Emily came, and we skipped ahead to our second location Mud for light dinner. I got the sourdough, almond-encrusted French toast, which we were all amazed at (especially considering its less-than-$10 price tag). In the candlelit, cozy East Village room, we discussed relationships, cynicism and the idea of the nice guy excuse. It was as deep and sweet as the dish I dug into (and ran with Emily to a grocery store's ATM to get the cash to pay for).