The Who, What, When, Where and Why of NJ Lawyer's food obsessions

The first sweltering love affair that I ever caressed, fumbled and lusted my way through involved twelve briny little neck clams and a smoky ration of chorizo so intensely crimson it was damn near pornographic. The final piece de resistance of this culinary ménage a trois was a portion of crusty Portuguese bread which I urgently tore and tore again, each time dunking it deep in the pool of liquid love that shellfish and sausage so easily make. From that balmy brine-filled summer evening where my culinary inferno was first incited to my present-day nearly fanatical infatuation with all things gustatory, my first great love has always been gastronomy and its many temples which adorn this great city.


My day job as a litigator (formerly a journalism major) principally acts as an enabler, urging me to sign my paycheck over to the likes of Chang, Bloomfield and Burrell on a weekly basis. I find myself planning vacations with Bon Appetit replacing Frommer’s as my guide. My wife has been known to elbow me in the ribs as she catches me lustfully admiring a particularly beautifully- deformed heirloom tomato at the farmer’s market or when she catches me surfing my favorite internet porn (read: Grub Street).


Don’t get me wrong; it’s not all foie gras fantasy and celebrity chef -envy for me. I am a fierce critic of the ­­­ridiculous culinary trends I seem to see more and more these days. My friends and colleagues get tired of hearing me explain exactly how much I abhor the ubiquitously tasteless summer truffles that inexplicably titivate menus from the Bowery to the Bronx from May through August. I equally hate the city’s newfound obsession with improperly prepared, soft squishy and sad soba noodles that are so suddenly de rigueur in New York that it seems that the City has collectively forgotten that these scrumptious noodles have been steeped in tsuyu across the Pacific since before 795 A.D. And, don’t even get me started on the multitude of bistros and bar rooms which underhandedly advertise Wagyu as Kobe (Kobe Sliders, nonetheless—as if!)


While, I love a fancy-pants meal as much (OK, actually a lot more) as the next guy, that doesn’t mean that I don’t know my way around a halal vendor, burger bar or gastro pub. I am personally partial to Big Nicks on the Upper West side, where I can satisfy at least two of the three aforementioned fixations. If only big Nicks had an understated yet trendy interior and served a Belgium duvel in a suitable glass, I might have been able to go three for three.


Ultimately, however, I am just a guy who likes to eat, a guy who’s never shy about his opinion. I’m a foodie’s foodie with a big appetite and a big mouth. I know what I like and what I don’t. And, now you, dear readers, for better or worse, know my predilections, preferences and food perversions, too.