NYC Pt. 1 - The Dessert
Wasn't that post title a song from 1994? Something about eating quiche in a phone booth?
There may be better places to start. There may be better Lego videos. I am currently unaware of either possibility.
Because when your family is recast mid-twenties and you have the steps and the in-laws and you seem to get along swimmingly at the holiday functions with their cookies and Christmas sweaters (thanks pops, you can take that off now, Bill Cosby wants it back)...you should really all take a vacation to Manhattan together and get a couple hotel rooms in Chinatown.
At some point after dinner, and just before the real rain starts you should go into a pastry shop and get a mixed box of mini pastries.
MIXED MINI PASTRIES PEOPLE!!!
Appoint one sibling to be the 'purchaser' while the others oggle glass cases, take pictures, and generally get in peoples' way, and then head outside to see if the 'purchaser' will really let you have the blackberry/custard mini-tart. Then see what happens...
Sometimes, when you're Reilly, and you've seen the cheese cakes, and you've had an éclair, and you're ready for a new challenge, a new adventure in life...you come across this. Cream Puff Pastry Cream Sandwich of DOOOOOM. I'm still not sure he knows HOW he would eat this thing. But I can guarantee that someday he WILL eat this thing.
Behold, the awesome fury of the blackberry custard mini tart. I used to go ape$#&@ for these things in Paris. That and the kiwi ones. Outrageous addictions. Those and the falafel pitas from the middle eastern place on the small street next to the office. But custard...I mean, there should be custard wrestling, not pudding wrestling.
There should be BOTH. But you know what I mean. I could swim in this stuff.
I was worried when Reilly decided there was something MORE exciting than the Cream Puff Pastry Cream Sandwiches of Doom. Apparently, he was a Rainbow Cake on Custard with Whipped Cream Tart Guy from waaaaay back in the day.
If you listen closely you can still hear him talking about it.
I will neither explain nor endorse. I will simply let you know that in both Cleveland and Washington, DC...as children...my sister and I ensured that no berry ever lasted more than 3.1285 seconds past edible before devouring it.
My father, who loves raspberries, was not amused.
I prefer them heavy on the berry and light on the rasp.
Broder-In-Law takes a break from looking fierce to enjoy a cannoli. And he can pull that off. Question his ability to FIERCE and he will MOTO your @%&. I'm just saying, he has bikes with tires that would not look good as tattoos on your back. Lucky for y'all he's a nice fella' and I've got a connection. You should be okay. Just don't question the fierce...it's all I'm sayin'.
Food PrON. Self Portrait of a Blogger as a Cannoli Lover. South Park could write a novel about this. I would be willing to sell them the rights to the picture. It would be less controversial than some other issues.
I'm just sayin'.
I leave you with pastry. And Cream. And Chocolate. Because really, dear reader, with what else could I possibly leave you?
After this the rains came, and the bacon-wrapped deep-fried hot dogs invaded, and the fondue pots were scrubbed clean (by people and bread), and the dumplings dumpled, and the dims summed. But for this glorious moment in time, there was flaky and pastry cream and chocolate and berries. There was sprinkles, and glazed and the promise that one day, one day soon, Rielly would GET that Cream Puff Pastry Cream Sandwich. And he'd eat it.