I have food hair. You know, like when you leave Benihana with hair and clothes clouded in a mist of grease and an essence of fried zucchini. I skipped the stuffed zucchini flowers and opted for the Pumkin Souffle at The Puck Building tonight. New York does not taste like rock shrimp with horseradish crust, truffle aioli, or roasted grapefruit-pistachio dressing. But New York Magazine says it does… and who am I to split hairs when there are fingers to lick, flavors to explore, and a food coma in my future? The highlight of my evening, beyond my conversation with Andrew about undressing in front of the opposite seex, was the Westfield Chevre French Toast with market mushrooms and–oh dear god–black truffle fondue from Silver Leaf Tavern.
I’ll eat anything short of organs… even, dare I even say it, stuffed pig’s feet. Oh no you di-ant. Oh yes, I’m proud to say I did. If you’re a foodista, as I am, I suggest you make it to the next Taste of New York event… proceeds go to City Harvest, so you needn’t feel guilty over anything more than the calories you consumed, the drink you spilled, and all the names you mispronounced… you sow.