Things have been crazy lately. School is busy, as usual. I’m still trying to find a summer job. And, because I’m apparently a masochist to the extreme, I’ve decided to start training for a triathalon.
Now, the fact that I’m attempting something like that is only funny if you actually know me — so as background, I’ll enlighten you all with the fact that I am a lazy cow. And I’m a lazy cow whose primary focus in life is good food, not physical activity. Whenever I mention the training to friends, I get the same reaction: An incredulous look, and, “You are going to do a triathalon?” Yes. Yes I am. And just because my usual exercise regime is walking to and from the subway every day and taking the stairs to class instead of the elevator does not deter me.
I went to the first training class last Saturday and the second one yesterday, and let’s just say that I’m not exactly on the same level as everyone else there. By the end of the workout, I’m completely wiped out — and our instructor brightly says, “Don’t worry guys, I know this feels really easy right now, I just want to make sure we’re all using the right techniques. It’ll become challenging, I promise!” Fabulous, I think, as I hobble out of the room on my shakey, throbbing legs, gasping for air and trying not to pass out. I’m not sure if I’ll make it, but cross your fingers for me.
As a way to get myself to the gym more than once a week, I also signed up for a core strength training course, which is apparently being taught by Tony Danza’s more flamboyant long-lost twin. We work out to the “Seasons of Love” remix, and no I am not kidding. His favorite thing is making us do humiliating moves on the exercise ball, too many of which involve rolling from side to side and/or bouncing while we punch and kick. It’s thoroughly demeaning, but the guy is good — he makes you work your muscles in a way which makes it impossible to cheat. You know how with normal crunches, you’re supposed to contract your bellybutton into the floor, but if you’re tired you can cheat and let your stomach just poke out? Not with this guy. He puts us in positions that make cheating impossible, which is just cruel. The class was on Wednesday, and I still haven’t recovered from it. To illustrate, it made me really happy that I could walk down stairs today and only one or two muscle groups were screaming in pain — it was a really big step forward from the previous three days, where any movement at all was searing.
But, considering that New York Restaurant Week just wrapped up, I needed to get my ass to the gym. Restaurant Week is my favorite time of year — it’s like Christmas for foodies like me. And this year was no exception, and the past two weeks have, for various reasons, been the most amazing food weeks of my life. My little sister came and visited, and my dad sent her with a gift card to Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse. I just abandoned my 12 years of vegetarianism this summer, and so Chrissy (sister), Sumeet (best friend from college/former boyfriend) and I went. Sumeet and I split a Porterhouse, my first steak in more than a decade. And it was delicious, even if I did feel a little bit guilty. For Restaurant Week, Sumeet was also my partner in food-obsession. We started at Payard on the Upper West Side, where the cheese souffle is one of the greatest things to ever grace my palette, but the service is awful. Then we went to Kittichai for lunch, where the food was excellent and the capuccinos (capuccini?) had surprisingly superior foam. Friday night was Tabla with my wonderful roommate Shannon, where they really know how to stuff you full of food: We had a bunch of naan, onion soup, crispy tandoori bread with chutney, quail salad, cod salad, swordfish, an eggplant dish, two desserts, and post-dessert candies, after which we immediately fell into major food-comas and couldn’t stay out for more than half an hour. And then there was Baltazaar, where Shannon’s boyfriend took us as a thank-you for having him live with us for two weeks as he prepared to depart for Berlin (we miss you, Rizzo!).At Baltazaar, we spotted the woman who plays Maxine Gray on Judging Amy, and a Stroke (not the singer, not the one dating Drew Barrymore). Sadly, no Judy Miller or Anna Wintour, but it was still good. We had their famous oysters, delicious ceviche, a great risotto, and escargot, which scares me but I still love. And I, the former vegetarian, indulged in the steak frites, which was incredible. I think I gained about 10 pounds this month, and it was glorious. I also came to the conclusion that if I ate like a normal person, I’d probably weigh about 95 pounds; as it stands, I eat like I’m 6’5″ and 250 (I’m closer to 5’3″), and, thanks to youth and a decent metabolism, have somehow managed to avoid extreme obesity (although I’m not exactly a skeletor, either). But I can’t complain. And I swear that the best diet — even though I don’t technically believe in diets — is to eat natural, preservative-free and chemical-free foods, even if those foods are high in fat. It might not make you skinny, but it’ll make your body feel cleaner. And who wants to be skinny at the expense of good food, anyway? So, bottom line, these have been excellent food weeks. And now I think I’ll have to go back to my steady Bohemian diet of goat cheese on baguette; gemelli with garlic, oil, tomatoes, red pepper flakes and cilantro; mortadella and thin-sliced cheddar cheese; and caprese salad (bufala or fresh mozarella on tomatos with olive oil), all with red wine.
In exciting news, I spotted Daniel Franco of Project Runway fame at Pravda last night. He’s adorable, just like on TV. But even more interesting than the Daniel Franco-spotting was the conversation with the girls I went out with. My wonderful friend Anne had all kinds of good things to say about Feministe, which she reads daily, and told me that she had finally worked up the courage to comment. At which our other friend Sarah announced, “Really? I always just comment whenever I feel like saying something.” Which was a little unnerving, since I had no idea she even read the blog, and I definitely never realized that any of the comments were hers, since she uses a psuedonym and an email address that I don’t have. Strange to know that you’ve been interacting with people online who you think are strangers, but who are in fact your good friends. Also unnerving: The fact that on the first day of class, two different people who I don’t know asked me if I was “the girl with that blog;” a kid in my lawyering class mentioned that he reads it, after seeing another kid in lawyering class looking at it; and Sumeet telling me that a girl who sits in front of him in class (he goes to a different law school) reads it during lectures. It certainly makes me think twice before I call anyone an idiot or an asshole, because I might actually know them. I think there may be an upcoming call for people to de-lurk.
Anyway, I think my need to indulge in a super-long, rambling, navel-gazing post is now requited. If you got to the end, congrats — you have more patience than most. Lauren was so much better at this personal stuff than I am…