One thing I like about having a blog is finding out what search terms people have used to end up on my page. Usually they make perfect sense – for instance, a Google search for “brunch near Brooklyn botanical gardens” pulled up my post on having brunch and then going to Brooklyn botanical gardens. I was surprised, though, when I saw this:
It hadn’t occurred to me that writing a post about how I hoped and believed French Ponytail didn’t sound like some type of illicit sex move would attract people looking for sex moves. I’m curious, though, about what exactly this guy was hoping to find (i.e. what makes a sex move “big”? Why all one word?) and I feel sort of bad that all he ended up with was a bunch of healthy recipes for chicken.
Last Night’s Dinner:
Last night Tim and I attempted to dine at Rucola, which is a brand new rustic Italian eatery in Boerum Hill, at the intersection of Dean and Bond. We were a little worried about getting a table and were happy when the guy at the door told us it would just be a 20-25 minute wait. We were slightly less happy 20 minutes later when we realized that no one ahead of us appeared to have been seated, and none of the people seated appeared to have food.
As Tim is painfully aware, I have a tendency to develop a psychotic personality problem when I don’t get enough to eat, and symptoms of it were already starting to develop while we waited. So we decided to come back to Rucola another time when (1) they had hopefully worked out a few more restaurant-opening kinks; and (2) I was less likely to chew Tim’s face off out of sheer low-blood-sugar-fueled madness. In need of a quick fix, we stopped in at Building on Bond instead.
The problem with Building on Bond is that I like them, but I’m not sure they like me very much. What I mean by that is that every single time I’ve eaten there, the main vibe I’ve gotten from the waitstaff is that they’re pretty annoyed/indifferent about having to serve me food. Last night was no exception. Tim and I waited for about twenty minutes before someone took our drink orders, even though the place wasn’t crazy busy and there seemed to be more than one or two people wandering aimlessly around, wiping random surfaces.
The food is consistently decent, though, even if the service sometimes borders on rude. Tim ordered a plain old grilled cheese and tomato soup, along with a side of mac ‘n cheese. He had no complaints about his cheese-based meal, although I found the mac pretty uninspiring mainly because it was woefully underseasoned.
I opted for the “Black Friday” sandwich, which is roasted turkey, stuffing, port wine cranberry sauce, and mayo on toasted pecan bread. Despite the fact that I asked for the mayo on the side but got it on the sandwich anyway (another example of stellar service), this sandwich was pretty tasty. The turkey was a little on the dry side, so I resorted to dunking my sandwich in Tim’s soup to moisten things up a little. (Remember that episode of Friends where Monica inserts a gravy-soaked slice of bread in the middle of her Thanksgiving leftover sandwiches and then Ross freaks out because someone at work eats his? Well, this sanny could have used a moist-maker). I also got a side of spinach, which was quite delicious, although it tasted suspiciously buttery for spinach that was supposed to be sauted in olive oil.
All in all, it was a pretty satisfying dinner, surly waitstaff notwithstanding. Tim spent most of the meal explaining the concept of entropy to me (and more specifically the Boltzmann Brain paradox), while I interrupted periodically with insightful questions/comments.
On the menu for tonight is another home-cooker involving those riso cakes I wondered about yesterday…so stay tuned.