Zero F*cks

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This was the only title deemed appropriate considering the beastiality of the consumption.

Think about the amount of f*cks given, multiplied by a rainy Saturday, and add in deli mustard. Now, throw in a warm, hefty helping of salty, melt-in-your-mouth pastrami, and shove it in rye bread. According to my nonexistent math skills, the answer comes out to: Katz Deli. 

Another Badass Brunch

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Yes, another one. Because the only thing to do on weekends is mindlessly food crawl until the cash runs out and you need a walking break until the next coffee pit stop.

That so called “list” you hear about from time to time are my never-ending scribbles of restaurants, bars, holes in the walls, (even books, music, etc.) I take note of to revisit in more detail. Last month, Dudley’s came off the list.

The Vision Edition

Things to hoard.

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Note: this is not an edible post (for a change). Recently, Warby Parker (the reason I now wave to the right people and read street signs) launched a few different collections for the current and upcoming seasons. With new styles in both the sunglasses and eyeglasses departments, this $95 investment is probably the only one your face will need until…further notice/your mascara runs out.

I’m Telling.

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Just because this East Village speakeasy mixology mecca has somewhat of a secretive vibe (located behind Crif Dogs, no visible name outside, must phone in via the red phone in the telephone booth kind of thing), that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t share details! Hello…the point of the Leopard. The last time I attempted to grab a drink at Please Don’t Tell, the wait was three hours.

Eat. This.

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So, among my list of never-ending meals to inhale before I find a more sustainable hobby, was Barbuto. I have heard nothing but gospel-like praise about Jonathan Waxman, his chicken dish and his epic Italian fare. And though I don’t gravitate towards eating the bird, I did consume an epic fellow fish, and some pasta mooching of course.