New York minutes
Here’s something you don’t hear every day: Eat meat. Put on some weight.
That was the surgeon talking before my date with the chainsaw. So I took him up on it twice at The New French (cheeseburger, steak salad) and also used it as an excuse to brave a Chipotle Grill. I never eat fast-food meat, but I swallowed the hype and ordered soft tacos with “steak.” Which were surprisingly decent although the guacamole was mostly color, not taste. I also cooked brisket while testing recipes from cookbooks for Epicurious. And I even ordered the “country meatloaf smothered in brown gravy” in the hospital and understood why a nausea patch had been attached behind my ear.
Charlie Palmer also came to the iron rescue at his scrum of a 20th-anniversary party at Aureole: a whole table set up in the back was loaded with charcuterie, including foie gras.
And out of the hospital, my pal Cheese Jenkins has supplied us and drop-in friends with weight-adding food for days. Not sure when I’ll be able to venture out to a restaurant, but things could be worse. . . . Too much of a good thing is almost enough.