Out of the Frying Pan
I lived. My fingers survived. As did my sense of fast-improving cooking prowess. In fact, the teacher – a former professor at Le Cordon Bleu – even pulled me aside with a couple of the other attendees, to assign more advanced homework for the week:
First, find a wine we buy frequently, and create a dish to complement it. Second, roam the Union Square Greenmarket in search of a vegetable we’d never before tasted, then use that as the basis of a second dish to pair with the first.
While reports on both should follow, tonight, according to Jess’ and my Tuesday tradition, we’re taking advantage of the freshest fish day of the week, and heading out for sushi. Not to Mizu (our usual stop, and some of the best bang for the sushi buck in the city), but to Matsuri.
The sushi there is a step down in quality, and a step up in price, but it’s also far closer to the Highline Ballroom, a concert venue where we’ll be catching Julian Velard and the Groove Collective later in the evening.
Tomorrow evening, I’m teaching at CrossFit NYC, my parents come into town, and one of Cyan’s investors is passing through. And the week gets busier from there.
Which makes me, as ever, wonder why – unlike most of Europe – we don’t get to take of the entire month of August. Or, in my case, even part of it. Because I could sure as shit use a break.