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September 09, 2006
Max Brenner and hamster derby
Hi Bloggingsoulmates! This is special guest blogger/stud muffin Adam! I had an action-packed day that's worth blogging about, no diggity!
First, I went to Max Brenner, a new restaurant by Union Square whose sole purpose is to facilitate and foster diabetes. They're known for their silky, insanely rich chocolate and all the crazy, unholy crap they do to it. After considering the chocolate pizza (with mini marshmallows-instead-of-pepperoni topping) and the Urban S'Mores (a giant fondue, but s'moresified), I went for the peanut butter brioche french toast, figuring it was the healthiest choice given that bananas and strawberries were included - that's REAL bananas and strawberries, not some crazy Max Brenner/Willy Wonka choco-artificial take on them. I also ordered the dark chocolat, a mocha cappuccino in a Hug Mug (tm).
After receiving/ignoring a lecture on the instructions of the proper usage and care of the Hug Mug (tm), one was placed before me. It looked like a gravy dipper, only filled with frothy chocolatey goodness instead of meaty giblets and liquefied fat. You're supposed to cradle the mug in both hands (thus the "hug") to keep it warm. And it did need to be kept warm, because the crap was practically cold. Here's an idea - serve it hot! Then you don't even need a dorkaroony Hug Mug (tm) and can use a normal mug like every other shmo restaurant.
The peanut butter French toast thing came out, and it too was barely lukewarm. But – OMFG. Now, I like sweet stuff just like the next guy, but this was redonkulous. It was a decadent, sinful mass of everything your high school health teacher warned you about (besides the genital warts). It seemed like they used a whole tub of peanut butter, generously and gleefully attacking three two-inch thick, French toast slices, which had long had since ceased to be a snobbily European carbohydrate and morphed into rich slabs of butter, sugar, lard, and many other things that wouldn’t mind stopping your heart. On top of the peanut butter were a bucketful of sweetened strawberries and halved bananas, looking like candy and not the healthy, disciplined choice of restraint I had envisioned. The whole thing took up a whole platter and had that artificial look of something that had come out of a kiln and slapped with layers of glaze. I had a feeling that if I turned my French toast upside-down, shook it a bit, maybe put it in a Gravitron, afterwards the fruit would remain perfectly glued and in position.
This is not to say it wasn’t good. It was VERY good. But it was also so outrageously over-the-top sinful, it was an affront to God. After a bite, my first thought was to go to church… and I’m Jewish! So I dunno… I think this Max Brenner guy needs to learn a little subtlety. I mean, if someone offered you a molten chocolate cake enveloped in chocolate fudge, sprinkled with chocolate chips and then deep fried in chocolate sauce, and, what the hell, shoved into a ham, you might say, “Hey, that sounds perfect!” But you are wrong. Dead wrong. And you sicken me.
Anyway, after clogging every artery in my body, I went on my next blog-worthy adventure – The Hamster Ball Derby Race! The nearby PetCo set up a small track in a tiny corner and the battle was on. Dozens of hopeful-looking children and their single parents stood around the track, clutching their pets and hoping their confused hamsters could pull off the ultimate win. There was a half hour of warm-ups, with every stupid child pushing their ball-encased hamsters down the track or standing at the finish line, shouting at the bewildered rodents to move in the direction of their voice. Finally, a PetCo referee showed up and laid down the ground rules, which involved various types of interference avoidance – no pushing the hamster balls, no kicking the hamster balls, etc. – none of which was adhered to. I even think a couple of the bigger hammies were juicing.
The air was palpable with excitement. Children shouted. Parents cheered. A lone hipster girl lamented being the only ironic, college-aged person with a hamster. People were pumped. The stakes were high. It was like the Kentucky Derby, only without the confetti and vomit.
It was a moment of living history. For generations, people will talk jocularly about the exploits of Sammy and Cinnamon, speak in hushed tones about Daisy and Hermione, and muse in awed wonder on Sweetie Pumpkin and Scooterboy.
But I wouldn’t know. The Mets were on, so I ducked out to the nearest bar.
But peanut butter French toast, hamsters, Mets…. All I know is that my day was filled with the wondrous taste of sweetness and victory.
Posted by Jennifer at September 9, 2006 09:38 PM