Down Home, Old Country Comforts

Shalom.

Do you ever watch shows on the Food Network, hosted by folksy Southerners like Paula Deen, and wish that you had that all-American background? (Just hold the butter and ham hocks, please. Hot cakes will do just fine.)

I must admit that although I have no desire to be a WASP (not that there's anything wrong with that), and that I enjoy and often cartoonishly emphasize my yiddishe Eastern European background, at times I desire to be from a small town in Middle America. It would be fun to be 'just folks' from June Junction, Mississipi for a little while.

Once this three minute fantasy is over, I usually snap back to reality and appreciate that I grew up as the grandchild of immigrants, in good ol', down-to-earth Queens, New York.

It is then that I appreciate the comfort foods of my youth - stuffed cabbage, mashed potatoes, my bubby's apple cake and star cookies, my mom's meatballs and spaghetti. And of course - macaroni with ketchup. (Don't say ew - it's delicious! Try it!)

It was this nostalgia that was behind today's lunch: a huge bowl of spiral pasta and tons of ketchup. I enjoyed each bit of grainy, gloppy goodness while watching trash TV (Judge Jeanne Pirro). It was just as good as the steak I scarfed down last month at Prime Grill. In fact, it was better, because I could eat it in my muu muu (very Mrs. Roper-esque).

Take a minute and think about it - what foods bring you back to that warm and fuzzy age when The Muppet Show was must-see TV?

Bagel BOSS

I must share an important tale with you all.

Today I had the good fortune to be in Queens at the Lake Success shopping center (an under-appreciated jewel). While I enjoyed the window displays at Bath and Body Works and the Gap (check out their striped boyfriend cardis!), I bypassed them in favor of a wonderous dining establishment, Bagel Boss.

I had previously been there a month or so before to grab a bananayy, so I was a little perplexed as to why the 'Grand Opening' signs were still adorning the windows. Be that as it may, a warm feeling of goodwill enveloped me as I passed through the double doors, and saw the shining racks of danishes, cupcakes, rainbow cookie cake (freaking amazing looking) and uh, bagels.

Being on a post-Pesach penance diet, I had to go for the 'build-your-own-salad' option, while jealously eyeing my brother's pizza bagels. I did manage to squeeze in some unusual yumminess of my own in the form of honey mustard tuna (intruiging!).

As brother and I sat, ensconced in a cushy booth, he complained of chilliness, and I urged him to try a sip of my green tea to warm his bones. He demurred, but I was so persistent (and annoying) that he gave in and took the tiniest sip known to man, at which point he made an extremely ugly face and practically spit it out. (Don't make ugly faces, kids, your face might freeze that way.)

I admit that the tea, not my usual brand, did have a slightly bizarre tinge of mushroom. But I loved the fun cup cover with its nifty piece of foam that lifted up.

As we left, I gave the bakery goods - every single one of them - a longing stare. (The staff behind the counter might have thought me a touch bizarre.) With great sadness, I shuffled off, sans any desserty goodness but secure in my dietetic state.

Thinking about these events, now that a few hours have elapsed, I can't help but be elated that I ate at Bagel Boss. It was so BOSS. Living in Manhattan and trying to be fabulous all the time can be tiring on one's soul. Allowing yourself to 'slum it' sometimes (and I mean that with greatest affection) in outer boroughs such as Queens, in a quaint little bagel shop, is so necessary.

The moral of the story? Throw off your Hugo Boss and hitch a ride out of the citayyy (although I am in no way endorsing Staten Island as an option).