ccstar over the phone: your speech sounds slurred.
yummicoco: yeah, I'm drunk.
The last time that I was buzzed, was at 4 Course Vegan this past weekend. Not a restaurant---more like a secret dinner party (held on Saturday nights only) featuring the vegan food stylings of crunchy-but-hot-argentine-looking-but-I-think-is-Jewish Chef Matteo.
This was our Valentine's Day meal.
With a bottle of Multipulciano d’Abruzzo in hand, we walk past Berry, towards the water on south 4th--the "Save Domino" sign glows red on our left and the Williamsburg Bridge looms above in front of us, we start to feel anxious.
Is this the right place?
Finally, we locate the building. Walking through the courtyard and opening the secret restaurant door, we find a few people milling about including a sassy maltese named Winston. I enter the space and say hello to the first person standing near the door.
I am Haitian so I immediate think that she is some kind of servant or co-host.
She's neither.
She's Isa Chandra Moscowitz, the cookbook writer. My vegetarian heroine.
yummicoco to an art gallery owner: the lady in the red hoodie is a well-known vegan cookbook writer
Art Gallery Guy didn't know that I made scrambled tofu that morning straight from her cookbook, "Vegan with Vengeance". Her recipes are jamin' on the one.
art gallery guy: ok.
He didn't give a fuck.
The next day, we visited cousins in Bed Stuy. For relatives so consumed by appearances, they live in a pretty grimy area.
They also own a pitbull, named Jack.
boy cousin: my neighbor's pitbull, blue, is smart. he listens to everything [his owner] says.
As boy cousin is saying this, we are standing on their balcony watching Blue from across the street. A true pitbull soldier, we watch as Blue dangles 4 feet off the ground, biting deeper into a plastic orange traffic cone. He is a spinning, gray muscle getting ready for some kind of battle.
yummicoco: Blue's ghetto.
And I think his owner is a Crip.
No comments:
Post a Comment