I heart Cris Barros' clothes

This dress is so amazing. Of course it was all sold out.

My friend Juliana introduced me to the clothing of Cris Barros today, and it was a revelation. The boutique in São Paulo is located across the street from the Fasano Hotel, and is very unassuming and somber. You open a very heavy and very big door, and then its liked you have stepped into a fashion wonderland. The clothing is in a simple rack lining all three walls, and the clothes are organized by color. Looking through the different clothes was such a pleasurable experience, because the fabrics beneath your fingers feel absolutely heavenly. My friend goes regularly, and the sales staff all know her by name and have things set aside for her. And then as we purchased our things, because there was no way we could go in there and not buy something, there are thin little cookies in a jar for you to nibble on. I ate two.

Person of the Day: Juliana

I met my friend Juliana for lunch today — we went to a small cafe called Boa and proceeded to have a leisurely lunch over which we discussed the prison system in Brazil (the prisoners eat their meals out of plastic bags!), and the state of affairs of both of our lives. 

After lunch, we went shopping at one of Juliana's favorite stores located across the street from the Fasano Hotel: Cris Barros, which is now one of my favorite stores. The sales staff were incredibly friendly, and there were cookies next to the register when you pay. Juliana then took me to Daslu, which is like a giant mansion-y huge house, filled with clothes organized by color. When you want to try something on, you literally just stand next to the display and take your clothes off and put on the clothes you want to try on. It took a few moments to get used to that.

The store has attracted significant controversy since its opening for a number of reasons. Firstly, the store is one of the most public and unapologetic displays of São Paulo's immense economic inequality; the four-story behemoth of a store is located right next to Coliseu, one of the city's many favelas or shanty-towns. Since the beginning of the store's construction, much has been made of this geographical juxtaposition in the media. While Daslu has made an effort to launch a number of social programs in this neighborhood, it is uncertain what impact they have made.

It was a super nice day and it made me so happy to know that I have a friend in São Paulo, whenever I go to visit or for work. Juliana is so awesome, and has to be one of the nicest people I know.

Destination: the road to Florianópolis from Criciúma

You actually have to look at the pictures in reverse order since I posted them starting with Florianópolis and end with Criciúma, when it actually should be the opposite.

Sheep on the front lawn

This killed me. On the front lawn of Canguru's plant, they actually had sheep grazing. In fact, some baby lambs were born the other day, and I could see them toddling around behind their mom today. At one point, a sheep baa-ed really loudly (we could hear them inside, through the open window) and someone thought it was my cell phone ringing. The sheep are not for eating (I asked), but because the owner merely likes having them around. And they naturally mow the front lawn, by eating it.

Snacks at Canguru

Check out the delectable treats on a platter for us to snacks on in between looking at press sheets. I ate two of the chocolate-sponge cake hearts, myself. Honestly, Canguru has to be the most hospitable printing plant I have ever visited. Besides which, they are doing a damn good job printing the materials for Stayfree®, which is always such a relief.

Doce de Castanha do Pará

Also called Brazil Nut Salami, the cook at Canguru made this specifically for ____'s dad, who apparently loves this dessert. Well, I now love it too. I could not get enough of it. The cook did not know how to write the recipe down, since she makes it from scratch without a recipe, so I have had to look online to find an approximation. This is not quite the same though, but similar.

Ingredients:

1/2 lb Maria cookies (if you can't find them in Latino markets, try Graham Crackers instead)
4 egg yolks
8 Tbsp sugar
1/2 lb unsalted butter
1 cup of Brazil nuts crushed into large pieces
3 Tbsp of Port Wine or Cointreau
4 Tbsp of Nestlé Quick
1 Tbsp of dark chocolate
1 teaspoon of Nescafé
aluminum foil and plastic wrap

Directions:

1. Melt butter and let cool. In a mixer, beat egg yolks and sugar until they double in volume. Mix in butter.

2. Mix Nestlé Quick, Nescafé and dark chocolate with a drop of water or two and add to the egg and sugar mixture. Add liquor. Remove from mixer and add Brazil nuts. Crumble cookies into large pieces and add to mixture.

3. Spread mixture open on a piece of plastic wrap and put it in the freezer, uncovered, for 1/2 hour. Remove from freezer and place on a clean kitchen towel. Roll it up until "salami" is formed - see photo above - and wrap it in a large piece of aluminum foil, longer than the "salami" so you'll be able to twist foil at both ends. Freeze for one day or overnight. Transfer to refrigerator until ready to use. Open "salami" at one end and use a large kitchen knife to cut it into thick slices.

The most perfect bathrooms, in the world.

Today was spent traveling from Miami to São Paulo to Florianópolis, Brazil. I arrived a bit worn around the edges, and having to pee a lot. Which is why I think I was so enthralled with the bathrooms at C-Pack — the tube supplier that we spent the day visiting. They had just built a completely new plant, and the bathrooms were so delightful that I wanted to live in there. Seriously, they were that lovely. It might have been the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows that also made me want to hang out in there forever — or perhaps I had exhausted my potential of talking about all things tube-related and needed a place to escape to. Regardless, if you ever happen to be in Florianópolis and need to pee, check out the bathrooms at C-Pack. You won't regret it.

Sun 1, Aimee 0

So I have layed out at the pool for the past two and a half days, and it has been hard work. I, by nature, am not patient enough to sit still for periods of more than a few hours; and my skin is not content to be broiled so unmercifully, either. But I am only here for three days, so I wanted to have a tan to show for it. I need a tan. My skin has been winter white, for way too long. I am yearning to look like I spend all of my days outdoors doing things like hiking and biking and climbing mountains and lounging on islands in Greece, as opposed to spending all of my waking time indoors huddled over my laptop coaxing good things to come out off it.

So I started off with SPF 15, and immediately switched over to SPF 20 when I realized that SPF 15 was nothing. And then realized that I had to break out the big guns and raided the box of tube samples I was bringing to Brazil, for the tube of Neutrogena Ultra Sunblock in SPF 45 that comes in a oval tube with nice soft touch finish that we are considering for a new project. But despite slathering my skin, ever hour, in white cream that would barely rub in (!), I am still burned. My knees especially. And sunburned knees means the skin is all tight and then it hurts to bend them. Which makes me walk like I have arthritis.

Which is sad, because I love the sun. During the winter, I always swear to myself that if only the sun will come out, then it will be a good day. And then, when I go someplace where the sun shines every single day, its too much for me. I can't handle it. My skin rebels and claims its Welsh heritage and gets all burn-y within minutes. Ugh.

My favorite time of day

There is something incredibly magical about the quality of light in the late afternoon. It is warmer in color and makes everything seems beautiful. Like there is an atmospheric etherealness to the light, that you do not experience at any other time of the day. If I had to pick my favorite time of the day, it would be around 5pm in an equatorial country. Or 6:30pm during summer time in New York City.

My Dominican Republic falafel

Every time I come to Santo Domingo, I go to the falafel joint (El Ray de Falafel) at Padre Bellini and Sanchez — you might remember a similar photo from my trip last year. You can check it out, here. The falafel is so incredibly fresh and crispy, and the hummus is super delicious as well. The sandwich is huge and I usually am unable to finish the whole thing, but today I was starving and managed to polish of the entire thing, including the stray bits of lettuce left in the little plastic napkin. Its funny how doing absolutely nothing can make a person so hungry. Its like getting a tan burns calories or something.

Reading Ken Follet at the pool

At the airport, I picked up Ken Follet's most recent book, "World Without End." For those of who have read "Pillars of the Earth," this new book picks up about 200 years later in the same town of Kingsbridge, with life still being centered around the same cathedral that was at the heart of "The Pillars of the Earth."

The cathedral and the priory are again at the center of a web of love and hate, greed and pride, ambition and revenge, but this sequel stands on its own. This time the men and women of an extraordinary cast of characters find themselves at a crossroad of new ideas--about medicine, commerce, architecture, and justice. In a world where proponents of the old ways fiercely battle those with progressive minds, the intrigue and tension quickly reach a boiling point against the devastating backdrop of the greatest natural disaster ever to strike the human race--the Black Death

Needless to say the book is even better than the first one, and I was completely engrossed from page 1, onwards. I figured that since it had 1000 pages, it ought to keep me occupied for the entire weekend. (When I travel, sometimes I pick quantity of pages over quality, which is why I have been known to read fluff by Sidney Sheldon and Danielle Steele — strictly because I am looking for something that will last me a while, not necessarily challenge my brain. Thankfully, Ken Follet's book did both!, which was the ideal scenario.) 

Annoyingly enough, the guy next to me knocked over his bottle of water, which drenched my book. Thankfully, I bought the hardcover (however, it weighed at least three pound), but this caused the binding on the spine to come loose, and the board to buckle a bit. This saddened me, because while I feel books need to be loved (and whatever comes along with the loving), this looked like I outrightly neglected my book, and had actually found it in a used book bin, instead of paying almost $35 for it at the Hudson News in the airport. I am picky about such things.

My literary friends, I have missed you!

Today, when I came home from work, it was the first time since we have lived in our new apartment, that I truly felt like I was home. I walked into the front door and immediately saw our new bookshelves against the living room wall, and I felt such a deep feeling of joy at seeing all of my book neatly arranged on the new shelves. At our previous apartment, we had an entire room in the house devoted to my books and Kenny's tv set. That and a fuzzy rug on the floor; that was it. The light was always golden in that room, and I never tired of just walking into the tv room, and seeing all my books waiting for me, expectantly. Happily. In fact, whenever I was feeling down for whatever reason, it was just enough to go look at all of my books to cheer my up. But then we had to pack them into boxes and stick them into storage for a year, while we waited for the new apartment to be built. And then it took us another year to put together the funding for the bookshelves. And then it took three months for the guys to make the shelves. And it took Kenny and his friend a whole day to put them up on the wall. And now they are real. And finally, I feel at peace when I walk in the door. Finally, I feel like I am home.

Happy panagea day!

Tonight, we stopped by Ladan and Ali's house to have some tea and mini croissants with them and Ladan's father, who had just arrived back from Iran. We got into a discussion around us potenatially visiting Ali and Ladan in Tehran this fall, until they explained that I would have to wear a headscarf. And that no, a winter hat would not suffice. To further illustrate exactly what I would have to wear (see above), Ali looked up a video from Panagea Day — a global event about bringing the world together through film, all ofthe films you can watch here — which shows two Iranian women taking the train. The film is called "The Slap" and you can check it out here. I have not had the time (and when I do, the place does not have enough bandwidth) to watch all of the films yet. But the ones that I have watched are fabulous. 

Commune Salon and Gift

My hair had suddenly reached the point of no return: I was wearing it up in pigtails, which I only do when it is too long to wear down. Which means, I was in desperate need of a haircut. Except that Izumi is so busy these days (so as much I love her and want her to succeed, I cannot recommend her to anyone anymore, because she is always booked like three weeks in advance these days) that she had no availability to book me for a haircut before I left for Brazil. This sucked. I did not want to be on a business trip, wearing my hair in pigtails. Its one thing to wear it like that to work in New York City. Its another thing to wear it like that in Brazil, where are all of the girls look like women, all of the time. So, I asked Wataru at Element Beauty Lounge, where she gets her hair cut. Being that she is Japanese, I imagined that she had a Japanese person cut her hair. And as loathe as I was to have anyone other than Izumi even touch my hair (she has cut it for more than nine years!), I certainly was not going to have a non-Japanese person cut it. So Wataru recommended I try Commune Salon and Gift on Grand Street in Williamsburg. 

I made an appointment with the person who cuts her hair (whose name I am not posting here, lest she become super popular — and therefore never available, also) and then proceeded to fret about it for about three days. Besides feeling like I as being unfaithful to Izumi, I worried that this new person would completely fuck up my hair. And having a horrid haircut while in Brazil, would be even worse than wearing pigtails. But, I decided to go through with it. Worse case scenario, I just wear a hat for two straight weeks. I had wanted to make the sun hat in the Lotta Jansdotter sewing book anyway.

Anyway, the woman whose name will remain unmentioned, did a fabulous job. She even did the little soap flick, while washing my hair, that I absolutely adore. It must be a Japanese hairdresser thing. Plus the head massage she gave me while she washed my hair was fantastic. Although it made me wonder if I was doing a sub-par job of washing my hair myself whenever I was in the shower. The haircut was super speedy, but I did not feel at all like I was being shortchanged. Rather, I had arrived half an hour late, and she was trying to cram in my highlights AND my haircut into the alloted time frame. The end result is that I left with a great haircut. Which makes me so grateful to Wataru to recommending such a terrific person to cut my hair. 

So, I would suggest you check out Commune Salon, if you are ever in Williamsburg. Its on Grand Street between Bedford and Driggs…it is super cute and also sells really nice jewelry and clothing.

I hate the US Post Office

I know this is not the space to rant about things I hate, but until I get this off my chest, I will not be able to have a day full of love and kindness. I have to rant. Otherwise, I might punch my hand through a wall.

I woke up at 7:15am! So that I could get to the post office right as it opened. This is because for the past six months, I have been trying to mail a gift to Japan for my friend Yuki (to thank her for letting me stay at her house last July); a gift to Stef in Costa Rica for her daughter's birthday, which was in February!, a bunch of baby gifts to friends that have had babies over the past five months, and my niece's birthday gift. Which is not late, yet. Now, I have tried to mail these packages countless times. Kenny would drive by, I would run into the post office and the line would be so fucking long that it was like they were giving out free televisions. So I would pack my bag of gifts back into the car trunk and we would drive off, dejectedly.

This time, I vowed this WOULD NOT HAPPEN! I WOULD MAIL THOSE GIFTS! So I decided to bypass my neighborhood post office. It is usually full of people buying 100 money orders at a time, each in the amount of $10. So I drove a few miles away to the post office on Myrtle Avenue, which has better parking. I got a great spot right in front, stuck money in the meter, and then noticed that the meter was a failed meter. So right there, I just lost 25¢ to the city. Ok, but I was still excited that I got a broken meter. I hustled my bags of gifts out onto the sidewalk and noticed there were a bunch of people milling around. Apparently, the post office does not open until 9:30am. Huh?! Why are the hours not the same, across the country?! Oh, and some guy pointed out the street cleaner came between 8-9am EVERY DAY, and if I did not move my car, I would get a ticket. 

I started getting annoyed. It is like its flat out impossible to use the stupid US postal System. It is like they WANT you to just use FedEx or Email, so that they can fucking whine about the fact that no one uses the mail anymore, and raise postage by like 2¢ every three months. This country is broken.

I got in the car and drove to the post office on Fulton Street. Fulton Street looks like a war zone on those particular set of blocks around the post office, and I practically parked the car in a drainage ditch. As well, the street is full of no parking signs, but when I looked around, I saw that there was no place that did not have a no parking sign. Three blocks are full of construction/no parking signs. There was no construction taking place that I could see, and everyone was parking there anyway. So I do too. I needed to get these packages mailed, already.

The whole time I was in the post office, the two women working there were completely dissing another co-worker who apparently called in sick, and they were really peeved about it. Like "that's why my daughter is kicking her daughter's ass right now," kind of pissed. This banter slowed down their work flow even more than the snail's pace norm that you find the post office, and I was like, "Can I come back there and just fucking do your job for you?!" Finally, she finished. And let me know that I just paid the US postal service $107 to mail packages to my loved ones. The way she kept asking me if I wanted insurance made me have zero faith that any of my gifts will even arrive in one piece, if at all.

I came outside and saw a police car parked next to mine, giving everyone on the block a parking ticket. At this point, I didn't care about respecting authority, and I started yelling at the police man, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" He calmly replies that there is no parking here. And I was like, "EXACTLY. THERE IS NO PARKING ANYWHERE! HOW IS ANYONE SUPPOSED TO  USE THE FUCKING POST OFFICE? IT IS A GOVERNMENTAL BUILDING AND THERE IS NO PARKING!" He smiled weakly and said, "I am sorry, I am just doing my job." To which I retort, "I FUCKING HATE THIS COUNTRY." I was feeling such hate for the postal service by then. And then I began to hate George Bush, because as president, he owns the post office, and I hated him for fucking up our country so completely. Which led me to just hate our country in general, for allowing this stupid sort of inefficient behavior to actually happen in the first place. This would never happen in Switzerland. Or Japan. Or Canada. I so wanted to ask the police man "But what about the drug dealers on Vanderbilt Avenue?" Or about the fact that a woman my age was murdered in broad daylight on Fulton Street (see here), less than two months ago. Oh, and what about the methadone clinic people who buy crack at the corner deli? And the gang related violence happening over on St. John's Place and Underhill Avenue? But no, the neighborhood is a truly safer place only now because I got a fucking parking ticket? I am trying to help the fucking country's economy by using their fucked up postal service. And this is my thanks? A fucking parking ticket? 

I quit you, US Postal Service. From now on, I am sending everything via FedEx or DHL.

I heart the Global Strategic Design Office

Left: Chris Hacker; Right: K-Y® Intrigue Premium Personal Lubricant
Gone is the old surgical tube that had you fumbling uncomfortably at just the wrong moment. Johnson & Johnson management has come to terms with the fact that K-Y, created for doctors, is a product for the boudoir as well as the examination room. Hacker and his team packaged this “premium” version in a bullet-shaped plastic bottle ergonomically designed with “sensory points, so the consumer knows how to use it in the dark.” It comes in a box printed in metallic violet with gothic swirls intended to suggest “emotional warmth.”

First Aid Kit
Hacker and designer Harry Allen have been regular collaborators since the early 1990s, when Allen invited Hacker to lecture at Pratt, where he was still a student. Their latest project is a redesign of Johnson & Johnson’s First Aid Kit. “Over the years it had been cost-engineered to death,” says Allen of the original clear plastic box with a flimsy handle and a slapped-on label. The new kit, a streamlined white plastic shell emblazoned with the iconic red cross, all but proclaims help is on the way. The top of the case is extruded to conform to the shape of the hand for easy carrying. The best part: It holds 30 more items than its predecessor.

Left: Johnson’s Baby Shampoo; Right: Rembrandt “The most iconic thing is the teardrop,” Hacker says of the company’s flagship brand. In this apparently simple repackaging, that form is set off with a clear plastic label that also highlights the shampoo’s luminous color. (Bottles tinted in the same shade also help.) The typographic treatment is cleaner, and instructions are printed on the back so it’s no longer necessary to peer through the bottle, trying to read them. Many subtle changes, but still no tears. Johnson & Johnson acquired the Rembrandt brand in 2005 thinking that a quick design upgrade could substantially improve its sales. For its release last May, Hacker and his team dispensed with the medicinal foil-stamped packaging and replaced it with a cosmetics-style white box with pastel tabs. “Your experience with the product doesn’t end when you take it off the shelf, but continues when you get it home,” says Hacker. “The tube is clean and simple and stands on its end, allowing it to look good on the bathroom counter.” 

Hamburger Salad

So, despite an earlier post, I am not done raving about Stand.

Because the hamburger salad at Stand has to be the best salad in all of New York City. Seriously. First of all, there is not one thing in the salad that I ask the server to leave off, which never happens. Usually, most restaurants stick raw onions on top of their salad, which I hate. Who likes raw onions?! But nope. This salad is a dream come true, especially for me, since I really find salad to be quite boring usually. However, this salad had radishes, green beans, carrots, cucumbers, romaine lettuces, quinoa, and boiled egg. And you can also get a hamburger on top, as well. I got the veggie burger, which is delicious unto itself. On top of the marvelous and perfect salad, its like icing on cake. I suggest you go to Stand and order one for yourself. You will NOT be disappointed.

Grass fed cows

All over the city are these posters for  the win a grass fed cow campaign sponsered by LaCense Beef. Apparently, grass fed cows leave a smaller overall carbon footprint compared to their grain-fed counterparts. If you win the cow, you don't actually get a live cow (sadly), instead you win a whole cow's worth of beef plus a freezer to store the meat in. You just have to fill out this form, and you can submit a slogan as well. And then you can vote on which slogans you think are the best; everyday one is chosen and posted. Today's slogan is: "The best cows are on grass."

I am going to try to win one for Kenny's birthday gift.

I heart WKCR

I am listening to WKCR's Caribe Latino hour on streaming media that somehow magically imported itself into my iTunes, and I am totally loving it. Holy shit, I am NEVER downloading any music from the iTunes store again. And now, I totally am dancing salsa all by myself, while I am waiting for my trampoline video to upload itself to Blogger. Seriously, I am out of breath, and now have a cramp.

Teresa on a Saturday morning

This morning as we drove out to the city, I turned on the radio to our Saturday morning tradition, FM 89.9 WKCR, so that we could catch the last bit of the four-hour reggae program (Reggae Riddims) hosted by some student at Columbia. After a rastafarian version of the 23rd Psalm, the show ended and switched over to Sounds of China, DJ-ed by this girl who had obviously never been on air before. In fact, she was so bad, that it was actually comical. Regardless, she decided to play an entire retrospective of Teresa Teng songs, and it was marvelous to be driving across the Brooklyn Bridge, listening to Teresa Teng. Previous posts have mentioned how much I absolutely adore her songs. Honestly, it was one of those "soundtrack to my personal movie" sort of moments, and I was rather sad when we arrived in Manhattan, although it was fitting that we ended up in Chinatown.

The High Life by Errol Morris

Person of the Day: Martín

My dear college friend Martín was in town this week, while, oddly enough, I was in his hometown of Charlotte, North Carolina earlier in the week. But thankfully, we were able to meet up this evening for dinner at Bellavitae. I had completely forgotten that Martín had lived in Italy for a few years after college, and thankfully, we did not pick a lame Italian restaurant. In fact, he was incredibly happy, because the menu featured gnocco fritto, a peasent-y sort of food which he ate all of the time when he lived in Modena. Basically, gnocco fritto are little puffs of fried bread, that you eat stuffed with with salami, mortadella, sopressata, prosciutto, or stracchino cheese (or with lardo or culatello in Italy).

Desktop picnic

Fennel salad with celery, green beans, carrots,
tomatoes, sea salt, olive oil
and a sheep's milk-goat's milk cheese.

Supermom

Gabriela Christina — 3 years old

Ana Catalina — 3 months old

Nathalia Rey — 2 years old

While I was in Charlotte this afternoon, I was able to stop by and visit Jessica and her three girls. It was the first time I had a chance to meet the newest Salas girl, Ana Catalina, who has to be one of the best babies I have ever met. Perhaps because she has two older sisters and she knows that she is never going to be the ruler of the house. Or perhaps its because her mom, Jess, has to be the most amazing supermom I have ever met. First of all, she looked lovely. What mom with three kids under the age of three looks at all put together?! But Jess looked so amazing and somehow managed all of those little kids without any sort of visible effort AND she even baked cookies! It was pretty freaking impressive.

Breakfast in a rental car in North Carolina

This morning, I flew to Charlotte, North Carolina, for a day of Stayfree® ethnographic research. But the first interview did not begin until noon, and I had some time to kill. So I pulled my rental car into a Starbucks parking lot, rolled my windows down to enjoy the 75ºF sunshine, and also so that I could listen to the Starbucks music being piped outside; and proceeded to eat the breakfast that I had packed at home the night before: two hard boiled eggs and goat cheese gouda on puffed spelt crackers. Life really does not get much better than this.

Trampolining at Paragon

Kenny and I spent the afternoon shopping after we ditched yoga in order to get breakfast. After breakfast at Le Pain Quotidien, new eyeglasses from Selima, and a rice ball from Sunrise Market, we ended up at Paragon, where I test drove the mini trampoline.

I love being on a trampoline…it reminds me of when I took gymnastics as a child in Jamestown, New York, at the Boys Club. I was five and my gym teacher, Mr. Natarelli, taught gymnastics on the weekends. So I took classes at the Boys Club, and the trampoline was my favorite part of class. I totally wanted to be one of the older kids who practiced back flips while wearing a little leather harness. Instead, I just got to bounce around.

Happy 35th Birthday, Chloe!

Leela is happily eating Chloe's gifts.

Biscotti from Corinne

Pan Chan

Helen and I!

The pan chan at Won Jo.

I had not seen Helen in a really long time, and in fact, I am too embarrassed to even think about when it last was. I had been also craving pan chan, actually, I could always eat pan chan, specifically the little dish of bean sprouts (known as kongnamul — 콩나물). So we met Helen and Marco for dinner at Won Jo, on 32th Street, in K-town. We over-ordered for dinner, and after the panchan and the pajeon (파전), we sort of lost steam. Honestly, I wish you could just go to a Korean restaurant, eat the pan chan, and then leave when you are stuffed full of kimchi and sweet white radish (무생채).

Side note: Won Jo has been around forever, and I have to admit, I had always been a bit apprehensive of going there for dinner after someone once told me about a person sitting at the table next to them who puked under the table. Because its a 24-hour barbecue place, lots of people end up there late at night, completely trashed. And its also the place where I first realized that shrimp actually have a face. Going there for dinner one night with Eddie Pak, I ordered some sort of soup with shrimp and the shrimp arrived with its eyeballs still on its on little face which had long feelers on it that looked like cinnamon dental floss floating in my soup.

拉麺 on a rainy day

My steamy cup of tea.

Whole wheat ramen with organic chicken
and I think I ordered it with miso broth. Or else shio.

My organic chicken in Kenny's bowl of ramen.

There is nothing more cozy on a horrid rainy day in New York City — other than not getting out of bed in the first place — besides a huge bowl full of steaming hot ramen. Especially from Minca Ramen Factory, on East 5th Street.