Dear Web Journal,
In all fairness, I was warned my first day at my new job that there were mice. That I should throw away all food and food residue in a specially-lidded trash can (not so special really, just with a hinged flap). That the building is old, has nooks and crannies for mice to hide, that even without proper insulation to keep them warm through winter I was bound to see one soon. But no, in my typical-of-late fashion, I made a decision that proved to be a questionable one. I left out a lovely piece of baklava, a free piece of baklava, given to me in reward for my silly food-related banter by the chef of a nearby deli. Oh, the pain and suffering of what happened next.
That fucking little cunt of a mouse ate my left over piece of baklava.
Not only was I definitely looking forward to eating it, possibly for breakfast, but the first half was so good. So rich with honey, with the bottom few layers absolutely seeped in it. And what with this threat of honey prices sky-rocketing, that baklava was clearly a high commodity. And it would’ve gone nicely with my egg salad sandwich, too.
Yes, egg salad. Somehow I have become hooked on a sandwich I had all but forgotten about until recently (I have Donald and White Plains to thank for that). I’ve had it for lunch maybe 4 out of the 5 times I buy. Luckily for me, my new work neighborhood is chock-a-block with delis. And although Westside Famous Deli (famous!?) has a delicious egg salad, and when I ask for jalapeños on it I get just the right amount, I should really make a conscious effort to break out of the ol’ egg salad routine and explore the rest of my options. Hell’s Kitchen is full of really exciting restaurants, far better food-wise than at the tip of Manhattan. On the rare days when I can stand being outside for the sake of being outside, I’ve ventured for Empanada Mama’s, Amish Market, and, of course, Azurri’s Café whence came the lovely baklava. Which is why this weather has me so frustrated. I need to explore, mostly I need to get away from my desk for a significant period of time, but it’s too cold for me to do so for long. I’ve never been one to order “the usual” so the very minute the guy behind the counter starts to make my egg salad before I’m half way through the door I know it will be time to move on. When there is so much out there to try, why stick with only what you know? Unless, of course, what you know happens to be a lovely piece of baklava.