What's Eataly'n You?

An incredible new Italian food emporium opened recently in NYC.  It's got fresh Italian cheeses, fresh Italian charcuterie, fresh Italian bread, fresh Italian fish -- oh, wait, I guess they could be Italian-American fish.



But there's produce that a produce person armed with Ginsu knives will chop up right in front of you, ala Benihana, whose chefs don't seem that Italian.  There's also an Italian wine shop, a gelato bar, a chocolate counter and Italian coffee caffe.


It's Eataly! This 42,500-square-foot food emporium in Manhattan's Flatiron district is the brainchild of superstar chefs Mario Batali and Lydia Bastianich, and Batali's long-time partner and Lydia's son Joe Bastianich.  It's also their homage to the slow food movement. 


So, if you like to eat Italian food, head somewhere else.  Or spend a few hours buying all your groceries here, standing on 8 different lines, and then heading home to cook it yourself.  Or wait 90 minutes or so to snag a spot at one of their "restaurants."


Mike: "Why are we doing this?  What kind of business plan IS THIS?! I'm hungry and we're surrounded by food we can't eat!"
Me: "It's fun, it's new.  Just be patient.  We'll figure it out."
Mike: "I don't want to figure out how to eat.  We can go to The Village and be eating in 20 minutes."
Ryan: "I want to eat NOW, not even in 20 minutes.  Let's leave!"



As much as I hate to agree with Mike and mini-Mike, they were right.  Eataly is a food mall where you you can't eat, unless you don't mind waiting an hour+ for a table at one of their "restaurants" which are smack dab in the middle of the food supermarket, where every hipster, granny or snot-nosed whiny kid can stare at you and your food and wonder, usually out loud, "Why do THEY have a table?!"


And I mean table.  Not every table even has a seat.  People were just standing there in the middle of the madness with people banging into them as they nibbled their Italian cheese platter and sipped their  Italian wine -- all while being badgered with questions like, "How did you get this table?  Where did you get that cheese platter?  Where do you get bread?  Why are you not letting me eat your food?!"


Nuts is the only way to describe it.  You want cheese? Stand at the cheese counter for a half-hour.  You want salami?  Stand at the meats counter.  Same with bread.  Or produce.  You stand on a different line for each category of food you want, and then go on a hunt for the check-out, which is located on the other side of the block, I mean, the food mall.  How many people are just going to scarf their food without bothering to find the cashier, that's what I'd like to know.  


The Record newspaper ran a story recently about the place.  One of Eataly's people said patrons will learn about not just eating, but cooking.  The person actually said, and I quote (from The Record): "People will come to us and buy bread, buy prosciutto, buy a tomato and have us slice it, buy mozzarella, take it to the park and eat it.  And that is cooking." 


Really?!  I'm half Irish, and even I don't consider that to be cooking!!  Good to know, though, next time somebody asks what I'm scarin' up for dinner.


We did get a selection of formaggio and charcuterie only took an hour to procure, as well as a loaf of bread and lemon soda.  I wanted wine, but never did find the wine shop amidst the crush of humanity. 


We hovered over an errant table that was shoved against a wall, slapped our stuff together with bits of bread and savored the Italian goodness.  Within minutes, though, we were on red-alert, as the passersby thought we were running a sampling station.  The four of us formed a blockade around out table, backs to the bastards, as we scarfed our cheese and prosciutto like ravenous hyenas.


Granted our cheese, cured meats and bread was very delicious.  And as fun as I've made the whole experience sound, I don't really see us putting in the effort to repeat it anytime soon.  We experienced their slow food movement.  But I'm afraid it's a crusade that will have to go on without us.   

The Mean Streets

I was driving to Lowe's Home Improvement this morning, a drive that takes roughly 4 minutes, and was dangerously cut-off not once, not twice, but three times.

My sister and I both went to Canada for our family summer vacations this year.  Her family went to Prince Edward Island.  Mine went to Quebec, with a pitstop in Montreal.  We both reached the same conclusion: Canadians are genuinely nice and don't seem to have anger issues behind the wheel.

No one in Canada tailgated to the point where we thought they would attempt to actually just drive over our car.  Nobody got into the left lane of the two-lane highway only to slow down because they needed to yap on their phone, or send a text or passive/aggressivly block traffic in a pathetic attempt at a powertrip.  Canadians passed on the left and got right back into the right lane.

Contrast that with Jersey driving.  Not only is this state the most congested in the nation, we have to absorb the drivers from Pennsylvania and New York, too.

Before I offend any of my friends: I don't have any NY friends who drive to Jersey -- they're all big babies who need door-to-door rides.  And my PA friends are obviously excellent drivers. ;)


So, wildly biased generalization #1: New York drivers leave their brains at the bridge or tunnel when they visit Jersey. Pass up your exit?  Just back up a half-mile down the shoulder and sit on the median  like a bug until you can cut off as many people as possible in an attempt to gain re-entry. Not sure whether to make a right or left turn?  Just start to go right until you feel the need to pull a U-ey and go left afterall.

Wildly biased generalization #2: Pennsylvania drivers, I'm convinced, must be former Jerseyans who moved to PA for a cheaper place to live.  Only, they now have to commute from four to six hours a day.  Which must make them tired, cranky and bitter -- and they're behind the wheel of an automobile!  Holy Christ.  When driving 70 in the middle lane of Route 80 at 4 in the afternoon, if a car should suddenly appear to be attached to your rear bumper and then it jerks to the left or right, and then cuts back in front of you, you can be sure a blue, white and yellow license plate adorns their car.  It's one of the thousands of Pocono drivers hoping to get home before 8 at night.

So, outside of moving to Canada, whaddya do?  We could charge every NY- and PA-plated car (except for my personal friends! LOL) a toll -- the same way NYC charges $8 to cross the GWB, Lincoln and Holland tunnels.  Maybe making a buck or two would take the edge off of dealing with all the extra congestion and aggravation.  Or perhaps major train service to PA.  (That would only take 25 years to install.)

But neither of those propositions would deal with Jersey drivers.  Who are all excellent and Autobahn-ready.  Except for those who aren't...!