Jonatan and I went to Mighty Quinn’s BBQ (2nd Ave between 6th and 7th for all you filthy BBQ goers) and disaster ensued with the carnage of two Pulled Pork Sandwiches ‘n Slaw, a pound of Brisket, Sweet Potato Casserole with Maple & Pecans, Burnt End Baked Beans, Buttermilk Broccoli Salad with Bacon, and French Fries, because what barbecue feast is complete without more fat?
But, I must say, it was no premiere Texas BBQ; however no meal is complete without relative certainty of possible explosion. Turns out this wasn’t our first taste of Mighty Quinn’s–we actually waited in line for an absurd amount of time at Smorgasburg (see post below) just the week (or so) before for their pulled pork sandwiches, which we initially appraised as being too bready and confirmed during our second visit. But apparently they are quite the hype with crowds foaming rabidly at the mouth filing in–after all, we did order the entire menu, didn’t we? I would say that their meats weren’t the most flavorful (but what do I know other than my sensible mouth hole), their Broccoli Salad a little watery, French Fries so-so, and their Sweet Potate Cass’role delish (if you rely on sugar for good health like I do).
So why so popular? TBD. I was listening to WNYC yesterday and they had a segment about Smorgasburg, and I believe they said that Mighty Quinn’s first got its start there (as a stand that later expanded into the restaurant that we all or at least a lot of us or at least maybe you know and love), but I could’ve misheard/been hallucinating, I get so food deprived at work sometimes. Anyway despite having only mediocre thoughts/feelings/emotions/loves/hopes/dreams for Mighty Quinn’s, I must say just by the sheer volume of food I shoved down, my god was it mighty.
Sup everyone, I’m taking a class and our first assignment was to take 30 self-portraits…Have a looksie, would ya? Tell me what you think. These were some of my thoughts that I wrote up for the accompanying journal entry for class:
The thing that is always so elusive to me is how to make photos that can accurately and succinctly tell someone about a time, a place, a person, a society, a culture, or a feeling. What is much harder for me than picking up on these things in someone else’s photograph is knowing when or if I’m successfully doing so. I find it difficult to abstract myself from the experience itself and thus I feel I lose the ability to see the image as a snapshot in isolation from the living moment. Therefore it’s often hard for me to assess how objectively strong or interesting my photographs are—whether I’m too quick to defend them or too desensitized to appreciate them.