PB & J Bliss

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On a stroll through the Flatiron District in New York while catching up with our friend, Taryn, she suggested making a pit stop at Birch Coffee to checkout a cute barrista and the rich roasted coffee. While chatting at the counter, our eyes caught sight of a delectable treat, a peanut butter and jelly brown rice crispy bar and we knew we had to sample one. We pulled and nibbled at the delectable square while walking over to Chelsea Market and were already thinking of ways to recreate the bar on our own. You really can’t beat a blend of salty, buttery nuts with sweet, syrupy preserved fruit. Here’s our take on it.

Peanut Butter and Jelly Crispy Brown Rice Bars

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Coal-Fired Pizza and Homemade Bombs

Hey ES-ers! I’m sure you have noticed (um…hopefully some of you have noticed) that your esteemed editor hasn’t been posting here much the past two weeks. I’ve been busy launching Narratively, a new digital publication devoted to original, in-depth non-fiction stories about New York City (and soon—other places, too!)

I’ll be back to ranting about bacon soon, I promise. For now: please check out today’s food-centric Narratively story, which stems from one writer’s obsession with a local pizzeria in Red Hook, Brooklyn, and follows the owner’s insane story, from West Virginia to Rikers.

Read: Who is Roger Fischer? From Berkeley Springs to Brooklyn, a tale of homemade bombs and coal-fired pizza.

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Endless Road Trip: Pastrami in Portland?

We know that Portland does pork well…and ice cream, and of course weird food and breakfast. One thing I was not expecting to find in this foodie wonderland was a decent pastrami sandwich. Even more so than bagels or pizza-by-the-slice, pastrami is a food that rightfully belongs to the east coast, and to New York in particular. Just like West Coasters complain up and down that you can’t find good Mexican east of the Mississippi, there is now way I was gonna find a pastrami sandwich in Portland that beats those from somewhere like Lansky’s, right?

Except I did, and it is the best pastrami sandwich I’ve ever had.

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Put Some Salt on It

I’m a sugar cone guy. Always have been. Wafer cones have less personality than Mitt Romney’s dog, and waffle cones…they’re just trying to hard.

Until recently, I had no idea there was a fourth option. (Only me? Did you guys know about this all along and just weren’t telling me for some reason?) Anyways—stopping at Steve’s Ice Cream on the Rockaway Beach boardwalk on one of these delightfully hot summer days we’ve been having, I was caught off guard by the question, “sugar cone or pretzel cone?”

Instinctively, I answered “sugar.” But then I reconsidered when I saw the thick, sturdy pretzel cones. Why the hell not? I went with pretzel, and hell yeah, I am glad I did. It’s not even so much that the cone is delicious—it is tasty—it’s that with each cone-centric lick of my vanilla bourbon ice cream, I got a sprinkle of salt on my tongue as well. Perfection.

Pretzels: good with beer, good with ice cream. What’s not to love?

Sorry, sugar cone. Your days are numbered.

(Photo: Kurdy S.)

 

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