Don’t worry, I’m judging

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Excuse me? I place my order at Big Gay Ice Cream shop, half embarrassed and half “whatever, what’s another 2,000 calories going to do at this point? And the man behind the counter decides to throw in some “humor” and holler, “don’t worry, I’m judging.” And at first I was kind of like WTF and then I got to my senses and understood that for a creature to customize a nutella-lined coned with vanilla soft serve dipped in pretzels, and then dipped in chocolate, to then be drizzled with dulce de leche was potentially out of standard human practice. OOPS.

big gay

So in my total time spent in NY this summer, I hit Big Gay twice. I promise I will never eat that again (for the time being.) But actually. So the first time I discovered the dark side was on a day of torrential down pouring rain. I went to dinner with Clau and Ernie and we needed to satisfy a sweet tooth, so we decided to walk 60 blocks in the rain (prepared with umbrellas) to Big Gay for some cream. That may or may not sound appropriate, I don’t know anymore. Anyways, I opted for the Bea Arthur- vanilla soft serve with dulce de leche and crushed ‘nilla wafers. Pretty bomb-diggity. And then I returned a second (and final) time, with Lauren after umm…eating some Mexican and decided I simply had to try the signature Salty Pimp- though I did add my nutella and pretzels to the concoction. It was actual insanity. Everyone should probably try one before they die. Lastly, I do feel the need to share a piece of seriously scary and somewhat detrimental and traumatizing news we received mid-ice cream. So you know when you buy a carton of milk (if you still drink that liquid that comes from a cow’s nipples and haven’t been converted to almond milk) and it has a percentage on it, say 2% and you say shit, let me find the fat free one. Brace yourselves. Any takers on guessing the percentage of fat in this cellulite-inducing danger bomb? Fucking 10%. TEN PERCENT. Lauren and I looked at each other, somewhat in disbelief, still gobbling our desserts and asked the guy what on earth they do to their cows. His reply? “Are you kidding? I don’t eat this shit.” Oh, okay…thats nice.

Now that you’ve encountered my bestiality nature, let me switch gears to the veggie from within: dinner at Candle 79.

candle appI’ll start with the appetizers. The guacamole with black beans, caramelized onions, pico de gallo, plantain chips and some ranchero sauce- pretty delish. And then the smoked hummus with grilled bread (tasted like some kind of cross between pita and naan–I dig it) with a nice amount of olives, roasted garlic and red pepper oil, also very tasty.

candle2The main fixings: I dug into the Moroccan-spiced chicpea cake with sautéed kale, broccoli, onions & jalapeños, red pepper-coconut curry sauce, fresh apricot chutney, toasted almonds…Amazing, though didn’t taste all too healthy because it must’ve been cooked with buckets of oil. But after my ice cream adventures, I think I can chug some oil and maintain my sanity (not really though.) And Ernie went for the Tempeh veggie tamaleh, with brown rice, pumpkin seeds, chocolate mole sauce (whatever that means), sour cream, guac, and watermelon salsa–we loved it too.

FX Photo Studio_image

There we is. My mama and Rapha were there too but not in optimal photographic positions, so they stayed on the other side of the camera while I flaunted my babushka-rounded face, which according to my calendar will enter shrinking mode on August 18th. That gives me 10 days to…I don’t know.

Big Gay Ice Cream shop (sorry for spilling about the 10%–but you still gotta try it.), 61 Grove Street, or 125 E 7th St (Grove is bigger and has tables, the other is a hole-in-the-wall)

Candle 79 (veggie & vegan & very tasty), 154 E 79th Street (Lex Ave)

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