Yesterday we were traipsing around the West Village on our way to dinner. I heart the West Village. It’s such a cute, quiet hood filled with angry, bitter New Yorkers. We saw a sign above some parking spaces that said, “NO PARKING: Violators will have their license plates removed and the air let out of their tires.” That’s soooo much harsher than getting towed.
I had to giggle despite feeling like absolute shit. I’m sick for the first time since being SICK and no me gusta. I’m not even going to go get tested and see if it’s the swine flu. From what I hear, if you’ve got the flu, it’s almost definitely of the pork persuasion. They aren’t going to tell me anything new other than drink plenty of fluids and get rest. Check. I’m on it.
Speaking of pork and other meat products, we also came across this sexy cake on our journey to Tortilla Flats. Sadly, the photo doesn’t really do it justice. Maybe it’s because I’m already a little nauseated from the dreaded H1N1, but I was almost inspired to heave at the sight of this bad boy. It was three tiers of faux red meat, with all types of butcher accessories involved.
The top tier seemed to be a replica of a ham, with decorative ligaments and tendons strewn about on the top. Below that, the supports are chunks of raw meat on shish-kebabs. The second tier seemed like a marbled steak, or maybe prosciutto, topped with random chunks of bone and marrow. I have to give them props on the recreation of the veins of fat running through the meat. The second and bottom tier were separated by naked bones…they look like femurs to me but I’m far from an expert. Then the bottom tier was ringed by raw pork chops – bones and all.
Everything was so realistic it was hard to believe it was flour, eggs and sugar in that window instead of a rotting carcass. Of course Thom and Rocco thought it was the coolest thing in the history of the universe and weren’t even slightly disturbed. Rocco’s only criticism was, “Too bad there isn’t any bacon.”