In the comments of my last post, Kris asked if I cook supremely.  I’m not sure I cook supremely (you’ll have to ask people who have tasted my cooking — any comments from the peanut gallery?), but I do cook.  In fact, every time I cook I realize that I don’t cook as often as I’d like to.  Why?  Well, first of all, my kitchen is on the small side.  Not bad for a New York apartment, but certainly not spacious.  I like cooking and eating with friends, and although I can just about squeeze in one other person to chop something while I’m at the stove, I can’t really cook with someone.  In my dream kitchen I’ll have a big island where friends can sip wine, nibble, and chop things while I’m doing the same.  Now, I just have people sit in chairs near the kitchen so I don’t feel left out.  Second, it’s really not that easy to cook for one.  Yes, you can cook a large amount and end up with leftovers for lunch and whatnot, which is a good thing (although I have recently met someone who doesn’t eat leftovers.  At all.  I find this very odd.), but sometimes I just end up with a little too much for one meal, but not quite enough for two.  Tonight I made simple steamed mussels with white wine, garlic, and chili flakes — it would have been a perfect meal for two with a salad.  It was too much for just me, and I didn’t really think the leftovers would keep in this case, so I threw them out.  Such a shame. 

Regardless, I really do want to cook more and eat out less — just one resolution that I’m trying to start a little early.  I’ve also gotten a fantastic coffee mug so that I can bring coffee to work in the morning — resolution number two.  Stay tuned for the next one — it’s a doozy.

Earlier this week, I went out to dinner with my Gothamist Food team to D’Or Ahn, which recently opened in a sleek, narrow, and yet comfortable space  in Chelsea.  As I was sitting down to write about it, I read Youngna’s post, and, to be honest, she described it perfectly, even down to Frank Bruni’s criticism of Lannie Ahn, who couldn’t have been sweeter to us.  Thanks again to my wonderful, amazing, and inspiring team, without whom Gothamist Food wouldn’t survive: Martha, Youngna, Joe, Tamara, and Vittles Vamp (who, sadly, couldn’t join us for dinner).

If you read this blog on any even semi-regular basis, you know that I love food.  Not only does it make me happy in many ways and serve as a focus for many of my social gatherings, but it also saves many of those in my life from exposure to some major crankiness.  Reading this article in the New York Times yesterday made me think of so many instances in my life when just having a snack made all the difference between being bitchy, cranky, and snappy and being my rather pleasant, normal self.  I firmly believe that it is always helpful to carry a "cranky snack" around if you suffer from the same affliction — I often tuck away small baggies of nuts or easily packable fruit leather — nibbling on a few almonds can return sanity when it has slipped away due to hunger. 

When Nathan and I moved in together*, we went to Ikea to shop for a dining table.  It was clear very quickly that we had two completely different ideas about what we were looking for: I wanted a table that could expand to fit more people for all the dinner parties we were going to have; he wanted something as cheap as possible.  If it wasn’t for the Ikea cafeteria and their Swedish meatballs, we probably wouldn’t have made it through that shopping trip (he gets rather cranky when he gets hungry), let alone through well over a year of living together.

Come to think of it, I’m kind of hungry now .  .  .

* John B. was kind enough to point out that I made it sound like Nathan and I are currently living together.  We’re not.  That was right after law school — 1997.  We’re still friends, though!