As a (kind of) good Jewish girl and food editor about town, my Yom Kippur transgressions and resolutions generally take on a predictable theme — exercise more, eat less, and refrain from mentioning Maison Premiere in every other post. Here are a few other food-related directives I vow to uphold in the New Year!
Discover why all of the people I know in the restaurant industry are skinny and I’m not
I’m hardly pushing maximum density, but losing a pound or five of food padding certainly wouldn’t hurt. The system “chew, swallow, repeat” has failed me — one of these steps is obviously expendable; I just need to figure out which.
Finally come to terms with mayonnaise
It may be a dastardly admission for a food writer to make, but I’ve never been particularly keen on the gloopy stuff. It’s not that I can’t or won’t eat (or even appreciate) dishes that have mayo in them (i.e.: Pork Slope’s shrimp po boy), I’ve just never been able to jump on the Hellman’s train with as much fervor as the seeming majority of the population. Help me, Yahweh!
Bite the bullet and wait on line for Pok Pok NY (and open a separate savings account towards dinner at Brooklyn Fare)
I hate hype and I hate long lines and I hate spending more money than I earn on dinner but what the hell. At least my beat doesn’t necessitate a visit to Guy’s American Kitchen and Bar
Start a campaign to bring South Indian food to Brooklyn
Most neighborhoods have an adequate go-to spot for chicken korma, samosas and saag paneer, but we’re still woefully behind Queens and Manhattan when it comes to dosas, idli’s, vadas, and uttapam. Southern Indian cuisine is also vegetarian and largely gluten-free — tailor made for Brooklyn palates. It’s an untapped goldmine, people!
Learn how to drive
This may not seem like a food-centric resolution on the outset, but when you live in the far reaches of South Brooklyn and the majority of great new restaurants insist on settling in the North, it creates a situation. Not that I for a minute resent travelling 3 hours round trip on the subway for a sandwich for you, dear readers, but if my husband would occasionally agree to chauffer me the mere twenty minutes it takes to get to Williamsburg, all would be well. Damn you, Fred Zorn. Damn you, MTA (although chairman Joe Lhota did tweet my Oktoberfest post — how about a free monthly pass and better connections between Bay Ridge and Bushwick, dude?)