To the NY'ers who nourished me...

This post is dedicated to the many people who fed my hunger and curiosity this summer.


Max Brenner:
Your Willy Wonka complex permeating your whimsical-chic namesake restaurant is endearingly sassy! You gave me a reason to believe in milk chocolate (no small feat) and your roast beef sandwich with horseradish and guacamole on brioche bun is no ordinary cold cut sammy.




Linda at Regal Cinemas, (13th and Broadway):
The first time I witnessed a whole theater of New Yorkers being led in singing Happy Birthday, I didn't think it could be true. But one thing is for sure that night: Linda, you definitely had Adam Sandler in his pitiful "Zohan" performance. The second time we ventured to the Regal, you graced us with your presence again, this time collecting donations in mail tubes. Maybe it was the dim lights, maybe something was in the popcorn, but Emily, Alli and I were so captivated that we each coughed up a dollar, disregarding the sheer elusiveness of your cause (something "for the children").
Linda, you are a gem. And bless your heart, you didn't forget to lead us in a round of birthday singing again.


The Union Square Greenmarket vendors:
Thanks for your locally grown, organic, freshly baked goodness that I will sorely miss. Every Monday, Wednesday.........Friday.........Saturday........A special thanks to Ronnybrook Farms for making me believe in milk again!


To the Whole Foods Salad Bar- More than one time I found myself at your counters in a Oliver Twist-like hunger, going wild over your bountiful orzo pasta concoctions, bok choy coleslaws, and vegan chicken salads. You were the manna of my culinary heaven after a 3 month Spanish study abroad onslaught of french fries, many-a-bland crema, and and gross tapas.


To the homeless who called me everything from "rock star" to "fashion queen" to giving me a one-over and proclaiming "excellent"...
You all made me giggle, and sometimes gag.


To Steve- my boss's little white-haired Irish doorman:
Thanks for always opening the door for me. You are adorable.


To the gay black culture on Christopher Street:
Thanks for the spectacle and good conversation that arose from such. Take care of yourselves.


The bagel and schmear dude at a Union Square coffee shop the day Tara and I ate the city- About this whole "poppy" business: is there some innuendo I'm not picking up on??


The piano player at Father Demo Square (6th Ave & Bleecker):
You are great. Do you roll your piano all the way home too?


Sabon of Spring Street:
After a long afternoon gallivanting about with my cousin LC, we both found ourselves in dire need of handwashing. No sooner than we entered through your doors we were led to your huge trough and given 6 options in which to scrub clean. Glorious.
"Welcome to Sabon, would you like to wash your hands?!" As a matter of fact...


Kirna Zabete:
How I will miss working next door to your photography studio, eying your shipments of Thakoon and watching you photograph Chloe duds as I pranced down the hall to the restroom, and then going outside to your flagship street gallery store to look at your your Lanvin on my lunch break- Actually I only did that once, because I felt bad thumbing the Derek Lam and Proenza Schouler donned in humble Anthropologie separates.
(Gwynnie and LaLo love KZ too.)


The six cabbies who denied me and all my stuff when I was trying to get from Union Square to Park Slope:
#2 was kind enough to pull over only to inform me he was off duty (Can I ask why you stopped then?).
#3 took a look at my stuff and waved goodbye.
#5 said he was going downtown. What?! Aren't I the one employing your services?
To the Bangladeshi saint who finally picked me up, I hope you enjoyed my 40% tip because you deserved it. Mazel tov.


Dean and Deluca and your $6 raw cashews. Enough said.

(It was Adrian Grenier who proclaimed his contempt for D&D's $5 strawberries in Devil Wears Prada. Luckily, I was not the one duped by this.)

Olive's of 120 Prince Street:
I knew I'd found a good thing when I was still menu-indecisive on my 3rd visit. Thank you for your yummy to-go lunches, even if your speedy service left me a little flustered on more than one occasion (wait, do I want the sandwich of marinated artichoke on pizza bianche or the goat cheese salad with asparagus......"NEXT!!!"...oh no, that's me!).
One thing was always certain, I could always rely on your savory Hero sandwich's smattering of genoa salami, prosciutto, watercress and caramelized onions to satisfy my appetite.


Yogurtland of Bleecker Street (at Morton St).
Your 16 oz. cups are sneaky sneaky sneaky, sitting there in all their free loving, one-size-fits-all, non-committal, we'll-take-any-quantity-you-fill-us-with glory. But did you really think with all your flavor offerings and plethora of toppings, we wouldn't fill the whole darn thing?!
Well, I loved every last spoonful (Pinkberry, who?).


To my publisher:
Thanks for informing (reminding) me that one time you small-talked me waiting for the elevator that my college town "probably doesn't even have good sushi" (yes, I'm quite aware). I'll overlook the fact you never remembered my name to the fact you gave me many bylines. For that, I (and my portfolio) thank you.


To my editors and the advertising girls:
Thanks for giving me hotel and restaurant recommendations, laughing at my jokes and imitations, inviting me to sample sales, telling Kanye West horror stories, and for rolling your eyes with me at the aforementioned publisher.


Prada of SoHo-
I loved ogling at your lace in the windows. You truly are what's in for fall. Hopefully, forever...



Thanks to the man who shouted at me "Why the frown? No reason to smile?!" after my first day of work.
Truly, there never was, nor is there any reason.