Delicious Dish

After an early evening trip to the gym today, I got inspired to cook something. Yes, an actual recipe involving actual chopping of vegetables and actual heating of food that does not involve a microwave. It was a big day for me.

I had been eying a recipe in Self magazine's April issue, so I went for it: I made the Fettuccine with Shrimp dish, and it was completely worth the hour it took to make it. Which is not that long, considering that I shared it with the Boyf, who was so impressed with my sudden culinary genius he had two helpings, and I still have a healthy portion to take to work tomorrow. Bonus: After eating it, I didn't feel as though I had negated my previous workout with a ton of fat and sugar calories.

I highly recommend trying the recipe -- and sneaking sips out of the bottle of white wine you'll need to buy in order to make the sauce. A note: I even substituted dried basil because every grocery store in Murray Hill was out of the fresh stuff, and it turned out just fine. Happy cooking (and boyfriend/girlfriend-impressing).

New York Disney

The Boyf and I watched a great old movie today: John and Mary, starring Dustin Hoffman and Mia Farrow. It's set in New York in the late '60s. I like comparing old New York to the sanitized version of New York we know now.

Case in point: Early in the film, Dustin asks Mia where she lives. She replies (and I'm paraphrasing a bit here): "Murray Hill. It's nice. There are trees on the streets, lots of men with little dogs, and only two stabbings a week."

The Boyf and I couldn't help but crack up at that one.

Both of us live near Murray Hill, and we like our neighborhood, but all New Yorkers know that Mia's characterization couldn't be further from the truth now. The gay men of yesteryear have been replaced by grunting, flip-flop-wearing frat boys, and the stabbings have been ousted in favor of overpriced boutiques helmed by nasty saleswomen. It's more like, "Only two sorostitutes blowing their chunks in the gutter a weekend," or "Only two or three drunken brawls on Third Avenue a week."

So I said one prayer of thanks for not having to worry about being stabbed on my walk back from the Boyf's place, and I said one prayer of wish that I hope reaches the heavens by the time doors open on the new condos that are now going up on every side street in Midtown:

"Please, Lord, don't let the jerks from Thursday's Post story price me out of my walk-up."