Blarf
Blarf is how I feel after what I have consumed in the past 30 hours.
Now, I'm not one of those chickies that obsesses over what I eat, but consider this rather unladylike list:
A whole bag of popcorn (mind you, it was light)
A bacon burger
A taquito sandwich (sausage and scrambled egg on bread)
Popcorn chicken and obligatory biscuit
Cheesecake (from East Village pastry mecca, Venierio's)
Nog, sweet nog
Blarf
It doesn't help that New York is such a tasty place in which to live. On our walk this evening around a healthy portion of the Village, Jeffrey and I passed so very many interesting restaurants. Thai, vegetarian Indian, Ukrainian, Belgian fries, diners a-plenty, etc.
One of our favorite places is Bamiyan, an Afghani place up on 26th Street. We were patronizing Bamiyan before helping out your local Afghani neighbors in times of crisis was the cool thing to do. They don't seem to be suffering there, although they have covered all mention of "Afghan" outside their restaurant with American flags.
They have a drink there called doogh, which I find delightful, but others find repulsive. It's yogurt and mint leaves and seltzer water. It sorta tastes like carbonated sour cream. You'd think that would be a bad thing, but it's not. It goes great with a kebab.
I must away to the lavatory, for to swig some Pepto now. Farewell.
Robyn
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