Funny People | The Grown Up Kids

All Posts Filed in ‘Funny People’

Post

Dinner For Two

July 20, 2014

2 comments

jonatan

estilo baja: crispy beer-battered mahi mahi, chipotle aioli, mexican-style coleslaw

pastor: chile ancho rubbed pork, chile de árbol salsa, grilled pineapple

camarón: shrimp, roasted garlic, avocado, chipotle mojo

rosemary-marinated skirt steak: potato-poblano rajas, avocado-tomatillo crema, crispy manchego

pancita: chipotle-piloncillo glazed pork belly, orange, pickled onion, crispy shallots

calamar: crispy calamari, mango-fresno salsa, chile guajillo vinaigrette

estilo baja, *2nd order: crispy beer-battered mahi mahi, chipotle aioli, mexican-style coleslaw

mole: sautéed chicken, plantain salsa, mole poblano, crispy plantain

pollo: chicken al carbon, avocado, corn, salsa verde, queso fresco

jonatan, *2nd order

We would have continued on (I at least hope) if the waitress ever came back… A night dressed in bittersweet, we finally threw in the towel and acknowledged that apparently there is a socially dignified (or lack thereof) cut-off at which “unlimited tacos” ends. As you can see, we labored late into the night as the dimmers switched on and the pic quality rendered the tacos increasingly unappetizing (it remains a mystery why those last couple tacos look truly so disgusting), but nevertheless a good time it was. If you’d like to try for yourself and join the ranks of those who ate their way to the blacklist, you may do so on Sundays after 5 at Mercadito on Ave B between 11th and 12th. Now go make me proud.

Post

Ice Cream Social For Grown Ups

May 10, 2014

7 comments

Do you miss being hyper? Do you miss cotton candy? Do you miss sun? Do you miss what hot dogs meant to you before they meant ground up pig scraps? Do you miss having food smeared on your face cuz you didn’t know what a mouth was? Do you miss peeing your pants? Do you miss being so dumb that everything in the world was fun? I do too and it’s called being in 5th grade. And what was the best part of 5th grade?! ICE CREAM SOCIAL!!!! (Of course these are not exclusively held for 5th graders, I know that) but 5th grade is the general time of life that your ice-cream-social-going selves peak, beyond which you can expect a steady decline of enthusiasm, immunity to fat, and sexual vigor. But that’s why god made Smorgasburg: the closest you’ll ever come to heaven/your childhood ever again (just see “baby” below). The first time I discovered this place was on a sun-drenched Saturday stroll in Williamsburg, the pulse of spring reverberating through the streets as we approached an inviting mass of pedestrian traffic. In my subsequent stupor, I stood wide-eyed as plate after plate flashed in front of my face: ice cream sandwich pork belly buns chicken ‘n waffles milkshakes fries donuts bubble tea bbq baguettes macaroons salt water taffy (this could go on forever and I was literally just overcome by exhaustion) so to make a long story short, we ran in and stuffed as much food would fit down our throats despite having just eaten two bags of pastries…and then went back to Brooklyn Heights to do it again the following day. Here are some pictures:

Post

Diary III

February 6, 2014

3 comments

There was a snow/ice/sleet storm in NYC today, which means I might as well have been steeping my feet in soggy hot dog buns all day. You know when you have “waterproof shoes” that either were falsely marketed or are over worn to the point of absorbing water? Hey, it’s 2014 so I guess it’s just as likely that we’re all being tricked into buying shoes made out of cotton balls as it is that I’m a disgruntled-yet-too-lazy millennial and need to stop wearing shoes with holes in them. But the fact that remains steadfast and true is that all day I could feel the skin under my toes squirming as it shapeshifted from dried prune to drier prune. And because my shoes are inverted rubber bags, they made damn sure no water was goin anywhere but on those toes. On top of which, my boss hoards dirty dishes like I hoard XL Gap Kids underwears, resulting in what often looks like poop splattered dishes heaping over the top of a bathtub sized sink (if that’s not registering, that’s A LOT OF DISHES), so there’s no room to get even a trickle of water from the faucet unless I ricochet it off a plate with old, caked on meatloaf sauce and wait for it to trickle into my mouth like waiting for the final tee in Happy Gilmore (in which he bounces the ball from a car windshield to a metal thing to another metal thing to a third metal thing to more metal things). Why does it always seem like being soggy and thirsty is the worst possible combination? Or do you think as long as my toes were waterlogged for 12 hours it’s basically like being hooked up to an i.v. water pump? I dunno, you tell me.

Time for bed,

Isabel

Post

OFFICER BONES

February 3, 2014

Mama Tsao

February 1, 2014

2 comments

Post

Mood Update

January 30, 2014

4 comments

I really feel like a pubescent butt sniffer again (it’s ok, I mean that in the colloquial sense). I have all the telltale signs: mood swings, fantasies of being strapped down against my will while having macaroni and cheese shoved down my throat, spontaneous and unpredicted bouts of sobbing (see: mood swings), obsessive finger curling of my hair, eating my own fingernails, being too lazy to consider doing laundry, and general distractedness (debatably early onset dementia).

All I’ve done the past three nights is sit in bed with kendrick cranked to 1 above mute so that my white yuppie roommates don’t get spooked to find that their well behaved Asian roommate blasts rap while eating 6 take-out containers of Chinese food alone in granny panties from 6th grade. And after that, you can find me choking down whatever candy and “oriental” snack mixes (thanks Lisa) I can find stuffed in unmarked plastic bags on the floor, making phone calls to friends and family to feel less embarrassing. But even if this all makes me feel like a cheap prostitute, I can’t get enough of it. I stretch out to lay on my newly dressed bed (thanks for the sheets, mama) and feel like a P.I.M.P. as I melt into my flannel sheets and picture gold chains and jewels falling weightlessly from the sky, Kendrick bumping in the background “I been hustlin all day this a way, that a way…,” the taste of chinese food stuck in my throat and a smile spreading across my face like a pair of tanned & oiled legs easing into splits. And I succumb to a complete state of relaxation that I never want to wake up from. Today it feels damn good to be 21 and hungry.

Post