I can’t stand when girls refuse to eat on a date. Look, I’m not saying order like you’re on death row. I’m just not understanding why a salad and some oxygen is considered to be standard for some insecure girls.
There’s a hilarious YouTube skit that shows four guys imitating their girlfriends’ eating habits. One says, “I’m not going to eat because I actually digested a huge gust of wind for breakfast.”
Every guy I’ve ever dated has always loved the fact that I eat ten times a day. It shows that I have enough confidence in myself to show a new boyfriend that I can actually get the nourishment necessary to live.
Constantly telling a guy that you’re “watching [your] weight” or “can’t cheat on [your] diet” isn’t making you seem any better, either — especially if you’re thin, because then you just look like you’re obsessed with your weight in a really unhealthy way. If you were in a pool with the guy, you’d swim, right? So when you’re at a restaurant…eat. Continue reading
There are certain things that you should not eat on a first date. After all, you want to make a good first impression. You have your whole relationship to eat like a pig, get food stuck in your teeth, and have bad breath. However, if you decide to do one of these things (or God forbid, all 3) on a first date, mark my words: There will not be a second one.
Food-To-Stay-Away-From #1: Any sort of stringy pasta. Spaghetti and linguini is out for Date #1. It doesn’t matter how carefully you twirl it on your spoon, at one point in the night, I am 100% sure that you will slurp that pasta at least once and, in addition to the horrible slurping sound that will emanate from your mouth, the sauce is going to go flying onto either your beautiful first-date-outfit, or worse, your date’s. The results will not be favorable.
Food-To-Stay-Away-From #2: Anything with garlic or onions. There is no need for your breath to stink on your very first time out with someone. Be reasonable, at least wait for the second time. I’ll never forget my second date with my boyfriend of two-and-a-half years. I have meticulously picked out all the garlic from my pasta dish. He then scooped it all up and put it in his mouth like he was helping himself to some potatoes. My jaw dropped. The look of shock on my face was enough to make him say, “What? Were you planning on eating that?” Boys, boys.
A friend of mine went out to dinner with her boyfriend the other night. He took her to Continue reading
Most vegetarians feel very strongly about their lifestyle choice. There are so many documentaries, films, and articles written on the subject. Poor, defenseless animals being slaughtered for our own gluttony. Meat going bad for lack of sale, while other countries have people starving. Animals being cloned for mass-production, producing frightening specimens that are simply unnatural. For decades, advocates of vegetarianism have fought to spread the word of their healthy, kill-free lifestyle. I commend these people.
On the other hand, I hate people who claim to be vegetarians because they are against the killing of animals when, in reality, they just don’t like meat. I don’t like the taste of lamb, but you don’t hear me saying it’s because of Mary’s little friend.
I used to be friends with a girl, Hollie, who was grossed out by meat. Yes, grossed out. That just made me grossed out by her. Whereas I begin salivating at the very thought of a juicy, flavorful, medium-rare steak, a big, thick cheeseburger, or a scrumptious roast beef or pot-roast, this girl was nauseated by it all. It didn’t help matters much that she went away to college. College cafeterias are usually known for their mystery meats.
One day, Hollie decided that she Continue reading
I once had a bowling date at an alley called Frames in Manhattan. I arrived first, and stood outside waiting for my date. While standing there, anxiously awaiting his arrival, I considered how much of a cafone I’d look like if he showed up to me eating a slice of pizza with the bouncer.
I thought about a little too much while longingly staring at the pizzeria across the street. He showed up ten minutes later, thank God, and made the decision for me.
“So I got the low-down about the food at this place,” I said, as we walked down the lobby of the building toward the elevator. “Apparently there’s a restaurant inside of the bowling alley. But you can also order food directly to your alley. The catch is that you can only order finger food – which I vote we do – because it’s supposed to be amazing.”
“Is it?” he asked, amused with my little bit of detective work.
There has been an age-old debate about this, and I’m here to set the record straight. Cupcakes are, in fact, better than cake. I’m not 100% sure of the reason, but I am totally willing to put some ideas out there as to why this phenomena is accurate. All I know is, when someone offers me a slice of cake, I almost always say, “No thank you, I’m not really a cake person.” But when someone bakes cupcakes, I’m stalking the table like a vulture.
First off, a cupcake is an ingenious invention for its size alone. In four bites or less, you have yourself a perfectly frosted, delicious little treat. It’s filling, and yet you can eat a second or third should you choose to.
Besides this, there’s no messy cutting or designated cutter for that matter. Dishes and forks don’t even need to be used. All you really need is a napkin and an appetite.
Cupcakes are also much harder to mess up. My mom and I have made so many lopsided cakes that had to be fixed with frosting than I can remember. Cupcakes, however, rarely come out crooked or mess up – because they’re so little!
What else? Unlike a cake, cupcakes can be Continue reading
I found that I was much more daring with my eating choices while in Italy.
My ex-boyfriend was constantly begging me to try new foods. I constantly refused. I have about five or six restaurants that I like to eat at, and have one or two things at every restaurant that I always order.
“I heard this new restaurant in the city is really good,” he’d say to me.
“Nope, I want to go to Gino’s,” I’d stubbornly respond.
“Why don’t you try this swordfish with capers? It’s delicious,” he’d say, while shoving his fork toward my mouth.
“Nope, I’m good with my chicken franchese,” I’d answer. It drove him crazy.
In Italy, though, I decided that I should be a little more daring. Two of the waiters told us that it would be better if we did not order off of a generic menu.
“Can I make a menu for you, please?,” one Sardinian waiter asked in Italian. Continue reading
After foolishly believing that waiting tables for money would be fun and easy, I quickly learned that being a waitress is one of the hardest jobs on earth. In addition to the total harassment and lack of professionalism coming from my bosses, my co-workers did not care for me.
As you could have gathered by my other posts or photo, I am just over five feet tall, 110 pounds soaking wet. My arms basically look like spaghetti. Add to this the fact that I have barely exercised a day in my life. Therefore, while other servers were piling three, four, and five dishes up both of their arms, there is no way I had the capability of carrying more than one 13-inch heavy plate at a time. So I didn’t.
Adding to my weak attempts to carry multiple dishes at once, the dishes themselves were extremely hot. I received multiple burns to my hands and arms when trying to speedily deliver Continue reading
Finding a hair in my food can absolutely food my entire night. Even though I always want to, I never seem to be able to let it go. I sit there, staring at it, wondering what part of whose body it came from. I start looking around at all my other food, wondering what may or may not be lurking inside of it. My appetite is usually lost, which is something I never say.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not a total lunatic about it. I don’t take it out on the waiter or his/her tip like some people do, and I certainly don’t complain to a manager – because it’s obviously just one of those things that happens from time to time.
I do, however, send whatever it was back for a new dish, and complain to my boyfriend for the next hour and a half. I have been known to whine and say things like, “Ugh, I don’t even wanna eat here anymore. This is so disgusting. No, I don’t want some of yours. Yours probably has nails and teeth in it.”
Hair length is an important factor when determining just how disgusted I have to be. For example, when I see Continue reading
Look. I get it. It’s the morning, and mornings blow. You have the entire workday ahead of you and you need some sort of added incentive – besides “I’ll get fired if I call out” – to will yourself to go to work. But the question still remains, Is Starbucks worth it?
There are many reasons people choose Starbucks. For one, it’s super fun to hold that cool-looking cup with the brown cardboard holder around it. Who knows, if you’re a really professional coffee-drinker, you may even have one of those awesome hot pink or lime green rubber holders that some genius thought of before me.
I think holding a Starbucks cup totally shows status. Ironically, Continue reading
There is a McDonald’s strategically located across the street from my old gym. I’m pretty sure the gym was built after the fast food restaurant. Could it have been built there by chance? I suppose. Was it? Probably not.
And why not? It’s a win/win for both establishments. The McDonald’s gets weak, hungry people like me shamefully walking into it after a grueling (or not-so-grueling) workout, and the gym continuously renews memberships because no one is actually losing any weight.
The first time I had ever gone to a gym, I was in awe of the sheer amount of machines, people, and people actually willing to exercise on these machines. Me? I was walking around, checking everything out, stretching – you know, assessing my surroundings.
By the time I actually got around to the “exercise” portion of the experience, it was almost dinnertime. And I never miss dinner. Now, I wasn’t used to working out. So I said to my friend, “Okay, we Continue reading
I do not, under any circumstances, share my food. Ever. And I’m serious, so don’t try to test me, because you will be left hungry and pissed off. I will give you the shirt off my back. I will give you the money in my wallet. But I will not give you half of my sandwich. Sorry.
I have been known to give dirty looks, make malicious comments, and perhaps even use my fork as a weapon (hey, it was only three times, and their hands healed – eventually) whenever a friend or family member tries to take a bite of my food. I may even build forts around my dishes using glasses and candles from the table. May.
My thinking is, if you want it so badly, Continue reading
To me, there is no greater moment than when the waiter puts your plate of food down on the table in front of you. I have two modes — disgustedly full and dying of starvation. There is usually no median. If someone asks if I’m hungry and I’m not necessarily there yet, my answer’s usually “I could eat.” I would say that I get that from growing up in my Italian household, but no one else in my family is really like that haha.
So, when I am at the point where I am, in fact, dying of starvation, I practically salivate every single time the waiter walks passed my table. I feel like my dog staring intently at him, tuning out my date and silently praying that this time he is carrying my food. The food that I thought about ordering all of yesterday. The food that I daydreamed about all throughout work. And then on the train. And then during my 45-minute wait where even my goo goo eyes to the host got me nowhere (Is he gay or am I having a bad hair day?). Then again, I guess it could have been the salivating. Continue reading
I love pizza. I don’t think there’s anything better than biting into a steaming hot, delicious triangle (or square), cheese oozing and crust crisp.
Unfortunately, some pizzerias take this perfect invention and botch it so that it tastes more like cardboard and less like Heaven.
That is why I have my favorite pizzerias and stick to them like glue.
Now, I must admit that I’m a bit of a pizza snob. When I hear someone in Brooklyn ordering Papa John’s or Subway pizza (which is a freaking oxymoron, in my opinion), I get very annoyed. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for Domino’s and Pizza Hut. I don’t think it’s bad at all. I just don’t consider it to be real pizza. It’s for when you’re coming out of a club at 3AM or are in a state other than New York.
To get even snobbier for a moment, my all-time favorite pizza ever ever ever is actually in Italy – Venice, to be exact. It was thin crust, with halved cherry tomatoes and chunks of who-knows-what kind of cheese thrown all throughout it. I cried when I ate it an ordered it every day. Unfortunately I didn’t see it in Central or Southern Italy when I vacationed there in June. Pure devastation.
Anyway, here are three awesome pizzerias in New York, second best to Italia, that I visit on a regular basis. Continue reading
I recently went to the wedding of two friends of mine. The food was delicious, and I made myself sick stuffing my face all night every time something new was set down in front of me.
My favorite part of the wedding (of any wedding, engagement party, communion, or Sweet 16) was the Venetian hour. Very nearly knocking down an elderly woman, I ran toward the open doors like the room I was in had suddenly caught fire.
One of the first guests to enter, I gasped at the pure beauty of the spread. For a moment, I forgot my name and couldn’t remember who I was. All that mattered was where I was – and what I was about to do…go freaking crazy.
I immediately picked up two plates, knowing that they would be filled instantly. I headed straight for the chocolate fountain, grabbing sticks for dear life and stabbing strawberries, rice crispy treats, and marshmallows. I even threw in a few Continue reading