Girlfriend in a (food) coma

It’s not that serious.

Yesterday, sweet and delicious yesterday, marked a fusion of quality food and television the likes of which have not been seen in this lifetime. It’s Restaurant Week in New York City and as a result, casual diners on a budget throughout the five boroughs have are sleeping heavily while remnants of a $35 price fixed meal dance in their bellies, tax and tip not included. My Dining Companion and I went to Artisanal to engage in a deluge of fromage, and if it’s possible to be both comatose and euphoric, that would describe us after overindulging.

I like going to places where you can get a cheese plate and the server knows the who what where of every cheese on the menu. Call me creepy, but I get chills when I hear about cheese. Ripeness, buttery notes, triple cremes and pungent rinds? Bring it, and don’t stop. Last night I did consider training to become an affineuse or fromager because Artisanal offers classes, but if I do that I might never stop talking about cheese and I would alienate my loved ones and mostly likely suffer a lonely “death from(old)age”.
fromager

The special fondue of the day, Montasio, was complimented by caramelized chestnuts and it was heavenly. A hard Italian Cow’s milk cheese, Montasio is marked with an aromatic grassiness offset by its sweet finish (and makes a hell of a steak and cheese on a stick when you drown steak tips and bread cubes in it and jam it in your mouth all at once).
fondue mont

Also found in heaven, stashed in God’s sofa-with-a-secret so no one else can find them, were the gougeres. Little puff pastries made with gruyere, indescribably good. The onion soup, garlic and fennel sausage, and creamed parmesan spinach were good, not as divine as the first few items but definitely not lingering in any circles of hell. Since we didn’t finish those petit plats, we still had room for the most phenomenal pecan praline cheesecake in existence.

Ask anyone in the general public and they could probably tell you that cheese is quite binding. Ask anyone in General Public where is the tenderness and they could probably point you to my belly right now. But it was soooo worth it. How was that for a dinner epi-log? Ew.

Our reservation was for the un-hip hour of 6:30pm, leaving plenty of time to get home and make an ass-print in the new Jennifer Convertible in order to achieve ultimate comfort while watching PROJECT RUNWAY at 10pm (and again at 11pm, not that I would watch the same show two times in a row. Or would I?!?!). The show that’s got the world talking and for good reason, it has it all. Last night, I finally got to give my hands a rest since they have been wringing with anticipation for 167 hours, since last week’s “Scenes from the next…”.

Last night! Nick’s Stitch-Bitchery! Zulema digging her own poorly executed grave! A model walk-off won by Tarah-with-an-H! Chloe making possibly the cutest dress ever! Santino’s Tim Gunn impression that makes me hate him a little less! An orchid-inspired top by Daniel that would not flatter anyone but he’s so cute when he pulls his hair back that I don’t care! And have I mentioned I could be lulled into a peaceful, dreamy sleep by listening to Heidi Klum say the name “Nina Garcia” over and over? If we are using the transitive property, Project Runway equals Artisanal Montasio Fondue equals bliss, therefore my nimble fingered darlings of the overlock machine, yes all of you, even yucky old Catherine-Keener-if-she-was-run-over-by-a-truck Marla, are bliss to me.

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