Tuesday's (pre-Ireland) Lunch: Ostrich Sliders

In light of the fact that I'm hopping on a Dublin-bound plane in six hours, it seemed wise to use lunch as an excuse to savor some fine, American cuisine. A full blown "burgers and fries" style lunch also makes it less likely that I'll shell out seven dollars for a can of stale peanuts... because that's your only choice when you're thirty thousand feet up, halfway across the Atlantic.

BareBurger is one of those places that just crops up around NYU when no one is looking. It's fairly popular, so maybe it's just that I wasn't looking. If you can get past the simple facts that (1) they're really proud of what they do, (2) they offer agave nectar in lieu of sugar, and (3) so many things have "organic" stickers that it would really be more organic if they just noted the three things that weren't, then you can really appreciate this meat and potatoes experience.


I went here on a whim with my roommate a few weeks ago, and the ostrich had sold out that day. I appreciate a place where your backup choice can be elk. Don't get me wrong, the elk was delicious; I probably wouldn't have ended up adding elk to my list of conquered animals if they'd been well stocked that day. Such a serendipitous experience encouraged our second trip, and wow-e, ostrich was worth the wait.

When done properly, a big slab of meat is a spiritual experience for me. However, variety is the spice of life, and sometimes the same quantity in smaller pieces is just more satisfying (M&M minis, anyone?). I went with the sliders, and they're absurdly good. Rob and I made a respectable dent in that mountain of fries in the background, too. Though not pictured, the recommended beverage pairing for any burger is the (translucent) sarsaparilla.

If bison burgers are the gateway drug of wild game, I think ostrich is something along the lines of cocaine (cokeheads who are also acquainted with ostrich: feel free to call me out on having no basis for saying that). Point being, ostrich is certainly different from your usual grass-fed cow. Gloriously different! I blurted out to Rob that there was almost an essence of jerky, and he nodded in agreement while busily devouring his portion. Thus, that constitutes my official review of ostrich meat.

Verdict: this place makes great food. The service is also disturbingly good, compared to most NYU area restaurants. My advice to anyone is to go find a new animal to eat. It just might be delicious... plus it always makes you feel important when you can buy something on the menu that's labeled "market price."

I like my coffee like I like my women... expensive?

I drink a big, honking cup of coffee most mornings to get fired up for a full day in a windowless room. New York offers a myriad of options for those seeking caffeine, from the breakfast carts on every corner (many still offering the classic NY paper cup) to the hyper-pretentious places like Think, where I'm pretty sure people just hang out in line to create a sense of purpose for themselves.

While some of these places are worth the ordeal, I must confess that I frequent Starbucks more often than I should. In my defense, my mother has a habit of loading me up with gift cards when I'm home. Free is hard to top, so for weeks at a time, I become a regular at one of the hundreds of Starbucks in the city.

I despise having to tell someone my name after ordering a drink. I tend to mumble, so the process is usually a drawn out, back-and-forth exchange that ends with my awkwardly shouting my name like a mental ward patient. Usually, what ultimately gets written on the cup bears some resemblance to my name. Here are some examples from this spring.

The top left entry is the winner, though I had to cheat when the barista asked me how to properly spell my name. Moving down that column, we have "Jared," which is coincidentally the name of my arch nemesis. Below that is something that looks like "barcet," which was my favorite of the barely legible ones. The final cheat is at the bottom of that column. I got tired of the ordeal that comes in communicating my real name, so I went by Jerry for a while. They wrote it, but with skepticism. I don't think I look like a Jerry.

In the next column, we start with "Derek." That happens sometimes. I was amazed when someone wrote "Jarret" without any help, but I think it just looks weird to have a double 'r' and single 't.' The first time I got "Tom," I just assumed I had stolen someone's drink. As it turns out, one of the girls just thinks my name is Tom, so now I'm Tom at the Second Ave location. It's almost like living a double life, and I kind of like that.

Of course, all of this experimenting comes at a price. When you register your gift cards, the folks in Seattle keep track of how often you use them. I apparently abused this thing, because it wasn't that long before they sent me this:

This is how God informs you that you go to Starbucks entirely too frequently. When this showed up in the mail, I threw it in my drawer and took a cold shower. I can sink pretty low, but I refuse to be THAT guy in NY with a personalized gold card to pay for my coffee at Starbucks... especially after I found out the Trenta is ONLY for cold beverages, though iced coffee is another rant entirely.

Thursday's Lunch: Peanut Butter & Co. BLT

So this is the first post. Basically, I needed a hobby... and here we are.

I've decided to document the fabulous sandwiches I encounter in the tri-state area in the spirit of NPR's "Wait Wait Don't Tell Me: Sandwich Monday." There will surely be other nonsense to come, but let's start with modest goals.

It was Thursday afternoon, and I needed a bit of a pick-me-up. I wandered down to PB & Co. to grab lunch. Ten minutes later, I walked away with a brown bag that contained this:

This, my friends, is a BLT with PEANUT BUTTER. Note the bag of carrot sticks and garnish of potato chips that come standard with any sandwich from this place. I appreciate that after serving you enough protein to bench press twelve llamas, they have the restraint to only give you 75 calories worth of chips on the side. Recommended beverage pairing: Stewart's root beer.

Perhaps you've seen the Five Hour Energy Drink commercials that speak of this "2:30 feeling." I had no idea what they meant until I ate this sandwich... at 2:20pm. This is heavy. Only after walking five miles in the evening could I bring myself to even think about dinner. Even then, steamed chicken & broccoli sounded intense.

Verdict: This is incredible. Bacon makes the world a better place, and the only possible way to improve a BLT is by adding peanut butter. It totally works, but if you have any self respect, you'll share this with someone. I have none, and I look forward to trying this again. Soon.