Bub’s Hub: Best Eggs This Side of the Milky Way

There was this restaurant that, after sixty plus years in business, quietly closed down two weeks ago. You’ve never heard of it because it was extremely exclusive. It only had one small wicker table, located in the kitchen, from which you could watch the chef prepare your meal. And when she was ready to serve you, she’d dance your plate over, singing some off-color tune as she wiggled her hips.  Dinner and a show…and always on the house. This was the menu everyday at my grandmother’s table. My siblings and my cousins and I dubbed this experience “Bub’s Hub”and insisted that if she opened a diner, people would come from miles around if only to try her heavenly Bubba Eggs. Oh, those eggs. Fluffy with a disrespect for gravity, kissed with a hint of onion powder, truly canary yellow (how did she do that?). I’ve never had their equal, and I know now I never will.

My Bubba don't drink no prune juice!

The passing of my Bubba hits hard. She was not a normal grandmother, and though she lived for 86 years, I kind of thought she might be immortal. Throw away any ideas you have of a “little old lady”. My Bubba was pure energy. She dressed in see-thru lace dresses and skinny jeans that she would paint with acrylic  roses. She was always made up in blue eyeliner and fuchsia lipstick. The jokes she told would make a sailor blush. She was a singer and a dancer in her younger years, and the performer in her continued to delight us every day. And she cooked. She was my Jewish Bubba, of course she cooked. Besides the heavenly eggs, she made stuffed cabbage, chicken fricassee, noodle puddings, racks of lamb. My cholesterol rises just thinking of the holiday meals I’ve eaten over the years. My mom asked her for her potato kugel recipe once, and she said “Fill the pan with oil until it goes over your first knuckle.” Oy!

I feel sorry for kids who don't grow up with Matzoh Ball soup

Bubba liked to eat. Linguini with clam sauce. Coconut shrimp (coconut anything, really!). Butter pecan ice cream. But she was funny. She would happily chug down borscht but other foods grossed her out.  A few years back at my mother’s birthday dinner, I passed Bubba a plate of calamari and asked her if she’d like to try some. “What’s that?” she asked. “It’s squid, it’s like octopus.” She refused to try any, gave me a devilish smile, and said, “Lara, you know I don’t eat pussy.”

This became our running family joke. Bubba promised us that on her 90th birthday, she would finally eat calamari. I have been counting down the days for this to happen. Such a sad feeling to know she wont share that meal with us, and I’ll never hear her laugh again, never feel her nails scratching my back. You always realize how good you’ve had it when that good is suddenly gone, but we always knew how blessed we were to have a Bubba. I know that on May 13, 2015, I will be with my family at an Italian restaurant, toasting our Bubba. With “pussy”.

Sun glasses. Fanny pack. Bubba sails on...

 

Staycation, NYC: Eataly

Today was the kind of day that can get a New Yorker down. It rained, hard, all day. My shoes got wet at 7:12 am en route to work and so I sloshed around for the next eight hours. The grey skies were endless. After work, I took the train to 23rd street for an early dinner birthday celebration with Julie. You may remember her as my Fanta-and-vodka-drinking travel companion from Paris and Berlin. As I ascended the subway steps into the cold rain, it was as if the sky metaphorically cleared. It was still crappy out, trust me, but my heart was suddenly lighter. Why? I was about to dine at Eataly.

Mario Batali and friends opened this everything-Italian-food market and restaurant plaza two summers ago. It offers endless display cases of pasta, chocolate, cheese, olive oil, vegetables, you name it. The best part are the restaurant counters. Craving some bruscetta? There’s a vegetable counter where you can have a glass of wine and a simple snack. More in the mood for mussels? The seafood counter is for you. Julie and I opted for the Pasta restaurant. It’s called… La Pasta.

Meat Lasagna with fresh made pasta. Oh yeah.

We had some pinot grigio and some goat cheese while we waited for our fresh-made pasta to be delivered to the table. Julie ordered a beautiful helping of meat lasagna. It was succulent. I opted for ravioli filled with ricotta, spinach, a delicate and sweet lemon sauce, and pistachios. Oh, it made my mouth happy!

I managed to take the fork out of my mouth to capture this food moment

After dinner, we took a stroll around the market. It is easy to pass an hour or so just looking at the sheer volume of beautiful Italian foods. The produce section is particularly lovely. The eggplants are vibrant, the mushrooms, wild, and the artichokes, hearty. Dessert was, of course, gelato. Hazelnut for me, Pistachio for Jules. We sat down with our creamy treat and reveled in the food, company, and atmosphere. Eataly is special. I recommend it for those of you planning a visit to the city. I recommend it if you live here. If I ever go on a date again, Eataly seems the perfect locale. It dried up my rainy day in an Italian minute.

Beautiful and tasty.

 

Meat, Meat, Meat: Our Last Days in Berlin

And now, the wienerschnitzel! During our last days in Berlin, we finally dined at Lutter und Wegner. This establishment is pretty old and feels quite German with its dark wooden bar and fixtures. We came in out of the rain and warmed up with some decent German red wine. Well, I had wine. Julie was putting back vodka and ginger ales. The menu was extremely traditional, all meat and potatoes and heavy cream. The basic food groups. We started with a crisp potato pancake (a “latke” as my Jewish brethren like to say) covered in wild mushrooms and sinful sour cream. It was a glorious thing…a truly delicious bite.

Fancy latkes

I had really come to this restaurant (and Germany, to be honest) for one reason: a slab of breaded and fried pork. Wienerschnitzel…the perfect food. Lutter and Wegner advertised one of the best schnitzel’s in town. My waitress asked me if I wanted the small schnitzel. I was insulted. I ordered the large. It was as big as my head, and I have a huge head.

Holy Schnitzel!

I ate about 1/2 of it and started moaning. I moaned all the way back to the hotel. I woke up the next day moaning. But it hurt so good. To stave off the moaning, we went to Prater Biergarten. I adore a good beer garden. This one looked awesome, but there were only 5 people there. To be fair, it was a weekday afternoon and the weather was freezing. But no matter. We drank our cold beers and sampled some pretzels and waffles. All good. But I couldn’t feel my toes, so we left.

My beer is empty. Tragic.

I don’t often say this, but there was something we ate in Berlin that really disappointed me. It was the  currywurst. Prior to our trip, we had done a lot of reading that all said “You gotta try the currywurst, it is THE dish of Berlin.” Okay, fine. What is a currywurst? It’s a hotdog slathered in a sauce consisting of curry and other spices…and ketchup. It was kind of gross. I mean, I finished it, but it was kind of gross.

No me gusta

We couldn’t leave Berlin with a bad taste in our mouths, so we headed over to the Kreuzberg district (think hipster Brooklyn) for a mythical creature: A burger stand run out of an old public bathroom. Yes, you heard me correctly. Burgermeister is housed in an old bathroom under the train tracks. The menu is simple, burger and fries, and it is strictly takeout although there are a few picnic tables scattered about. I like burgers. I’m a fan of public restrooms. Had to try it.

Hamburgers and toilets

The burger was tasty, but it had an interesting flavoring…curry. What is it with Berliners and curry? I was intrigued. Not a spice I would associate with pork and heavy cream. The curry flavoring in the burger went down much better than in the ‘wurst. We enjoyed this meal. Then we walked around the neighborhood to take in the graffiti.

The secret ingredient is also...curry

And thus we headed home ten pounds heavier to America. I enjoyed Berlin, especially after Paris as they were so different. That said, not sure if I would go again. My next German destination will probably be Munich, or I would love to go to Vienna, Austria. But I will remember the wienerschnitzel for a long, long time.

A Pretty Sweet Way to Spend A Saturday: NYC Honey Festival

I woke up this morning all excited for the 1st annual New York City Honey Festival. Then I opened my window and got really excited because it was full-fledged Fall weather outside. New York City in the autumn is perfection. And I look and feel my best in a pair of cowboy boots and a cardigan. So honey and Fall? A perfect day in the making.

Abby the dog on her way to the Honey Festival. Note- I took this picture hanging out of the sunroof.

My buddies Lindsay and Jen (and Jen’s dog, Abby) picked me up and we enjoyed a scenic drive to Rockaway Beach. The Honey Festival occupied a few booths on the boardwalk. There were a couple of people in bee costumes (No rain?) some Bee face painting, and food stands. Not to mention the bees. There were enclosed hives all around, but that didn’t keep the bees from circulating in the crowd. It was kind of neat. We started off our honey adventure by sampling some pickles from Horman’s Best Pickles. Keeping to the theme, they had honey mustard pickles all cut up by the jar, but I was more in the mood for a pickle on a stick. So I ordered a good old sour pickle and headed down to the beach to enjoy it. It was slightly cold and windy, but the ocean was beautiful and my pickle delicious. Nothing beats a pickle on the beach.

If you think it burns to get seawater in your eye, watch out for pickle juice!

We were ready for lunch so we headed to the stands for some eats. Lindsay and Jen feasted on Flautas from Rockaway Taco, but I was more in the mood for seafood, being close to the ocean and all. I ordered fried shrimp and fries from “Motorboat and the Big Banana” and tried some Honey Pale Ale from Six Point Brewery.

These items do not contain honey but they are still delicious

After lunch we strolled on the beach and I looked for seaglass. I found one piece. Bummer. Feeling rejuvenated from the ocean air, we visited a few more booths and did some honey shopping. I bought a bottle of Mike’s Hot Honey (honey and chilies, great for cooking). It was now around 3:00, and almost all the honey was sold out! We did manage to snag a few jars fresh off of the honeycomb after watching a really interesting demonstration on honey extraction. We sampled different “flavors” of honey, and I washed my honey down with some green tea and honey ice cream (delicious!)

Hot off the beehive

It was such a fun day, and it made me proud to be a New Yorker and a Queensite. There are great, local things going on in our fair city all the time, and this was a slice of that community spirit. I really enjoyed it.  Thanks to everyone who helped throw the festival together, and I shall certainly see you next year. For now, I have to go wash my hands. They’re sticky.

Sweet

 

 

Mini-Edition: September Food Fesitvals

Say goodbye to summer with a bevy of food festivals in the NYC area.

Next week, there’s Pig Island  on Governor’s Island. Pig Island! New York pig farmers and chefs coming together for a truly beautiful thing. It is pricy, at $70 admission, but it is PIG ISLAND. Also, Governor’s Island is lovely and only a ferry ride away. I am 92% sure I am attending this event. 93%. PIG ISLAND.

On September 17th, there’s the first annual New York City Honey Festivalat Rockaway Beach. This event looks like a blast. Bee keeping classes, honey sampling, costumes…oh yeah. And it is sponsored by Brooklyn Grange rooftop farm (located in my beloved Astoria). My friend Lindsay and I did some volunteer gardening there so we now feel a part of the festival. There were tons of bees circling my head as I tied up tomato plants. I am part of the circle of life.

Volunteering at Brooklyn Grange. You can tell I'm working hard cause my little tongue is sticking out. Cute.

Then of course there is the big kahuna, the Food Network NYC Food festival. I would love to attend every event, especially those hosted by Duff Goldman ( I really feel we would hit it off). I need money to attend all these events! I better start cutting back on seamlessweb deliveries.

If you attend any of these festivities, enjoy!

How to Look Cool While Riding a Segue in Berlin (Warning: This Post Contains Wienerschnitzel)

Um, do we look like tourists?

By the time we arrived in Berlin, it was still raining and I’m pretty sure I had developed pneumonia, bronchitis, and possibly whooping-cough. No matter! I was excited for Berlin because I am a history geek and I am Jewish. I think it is important to go to a place where decisions and actions were carried out that changed the world and my own personal family story. Also, I love wienerschnitzel.

We dragged our suitcases through the rain and underground into the U-bahn. I would like to say something about the German train system. It is a thing of art. Clean, punctual, and apparently it is totally fine to drink beer on the train any time of the day or night. But there is one catch: the system works on a sort of “honor system”. You do not have to enter the stations through a turnstile. So, theoretically, you could probably ride for free. Except the train police make random checks and you can get a hefty fine. This scared me something awful. Julie and I always bought and validated our tickets except for one trip and the whole time, I was certain they were going to deport me. Julie with her blonde hair and her German last name would be just fine. Not me.

Riding the U-bahn in Berlin

Of course, there was no ticket check and we rode out from the city center to Tier Park. Our hotel was large and quite nice, and we were starving. We found a quant little restaurant down the block called “Zum Baren” (The Bear). The menu was entirely in German and didn’t seem to have any of the key food phrases from my travel guide. So we kind of just guessed. I ended up with a plate of pork, mushroom sauce, a healthy dollop of cream and  potato croquettes. Julie got an omelette of sorts with tons of mushrooms. It was warm, hearty, and the perfect fuel because we were about to embark on a 4 hour segue tour of the city in the pouring rain.

I don't think it is possible to go on a diet in Germany. The salad is bathed in heavy cream.

The rain turned into a blessing because no one showed up for the tour except us! So we essentially got a private tour of the city. We went through “City Segue Tours” and it was a great experience. Our guide was funny and very informative. It took a minute or ten to get the hang of riding the segue, but then we were off and riding along with traffic. Berlin is not a pretty city. It is interesting, it has a grey and gothic feel. Most of the bombed out buildings have been rebuilt but there is still a feeling of ghosts all around. The tour was a blast but my pneumonia was acting up and I couldn’t feel my toes (it was freezing!)

We crawled back to our hotel and took hot showers. Feeling really under the weather, we changed our dinner reservation to the next night. This was a big deal because we were set to dine in a restaurant that reputedly served the best wienerschnitzel. Instead we ate German Pringles and fell into a deep sleep.

Okay, so this post doesn’t exactly get around to the wienerschnitzel, but consider it a coming attraction for next time. I promise, there will be pork.

And there was beer. Lots of beer.

Fine Dining with Some Middle-Aged French Dudes

Julie and I had big plans for our Parisian suppers. Money was of no concern: we were going to eat well. Thanks to the restaurant suggestions of Julie’s amazing brother, Eric, we had some great dines lined up. But the meal that turned out to be the most memorable, and not simply because it was delicious, was our late night dinner at Chez l’Ami Jean. A small, warm restaurant with communal tables, we came ready to do some serious eating. We squeezed into the crowded table and immediately the grey-haired gentleman to my left (let’s call him Jacques) started speaking to us in French. I was prepared for this. “Je suis désolé je ne parle pas français!” (Translation: sorry, I don’t speak no French). “Ah, Americans!” the man next to Julie (hence forth “Pierre”) exclaimed. Apparently, they loved Americans.

Life's a ball at Chez l'Ami Jean

We chatted with these finely dressed middle-aged men for a few minutes. I inquired as to what was good in the restaurant, and Pierre grabbed my menu and shouted, “That es et! I will order your dinner, and et will be ze best meal of your life!” I live for moments like this. I was excited. Our amazing French meal started with absinthe. Oh boy.

Absinthe: caution! caution!

I had never tried it, and was pleasantly surprised by the warm liquorice flavor. I only had three sips because Pierre had promised me a stellar bottle of wine. Julie opted for vodka and sprite, which doesn’t exist in Paris. She was brought Fanta and a shot of vodka, and mixed the two together. My wine was AMAZING. I wish I could tell you the name, but it was served in a carafe and Pierre refused to tell me the name. In retrospect, he was kind of a bully. But no matter. This wine was warm, slightly sweet, and made my cheeks feel like it was their wedding night. I proceeded to drink the carafe pretty much entirely by myself.

Bacon. Lobster. Cream. You do the math

Our first course soon arrived. It appeared to be a bowl filled with huge chunks of lobster meat, crispy bacon and scallions. The waiter then poured a cream stock on top of the whole thing. Joy! Rapture! This soup alone was worth the price of the plane ticket. I drank more wine. Julie drank more Fanta and vodka. The Frenchmen drank more everything (and smoked like crazy. Really. I have never seen anyone smoke so many cigarettes in the course of one meal.)

So much more than steak, peas, and carrots

Our main course was tender, medium-rare beef and fresh carrots, peas, and country mushrooms. So simple, and so delicious. The ingredients really shined. We took our time eating. And between Julie and I, we finished the whole generous portion. Meanwhile, Jacques and Pierre were really putting back their alcohol. Pierre seemed to be enamoured with poor Julie, so much so that he eventually proclaimed his affections as such (and I quote) “Julie, Voulez vous coucher avec moi?” For those of you not up to date with your French or your Moulin Rouge, Pierre just asked Julie if she wanted to sleep with him. We died laughing. Pierre was offended by our outburst, seemingly unaware that he had walked into the stereotype script of the lover-boy Frenchman.

Time for dessert! Creamy rice pudding with caramel creme and heaps of candied nuts and meringue cookies to crumble into your bowl as you saw fit.

A perfect ending to a perfect meal

We luxuriated in this fine finishing touch as we put away the rest of our drinks. Pierre was trying to get more and more amorous towards Julie until, as the piece de resistance, he tried to shove his tongue down her throat. I mean, I know we were in France and perhaps you should share a French kiss with someone while there, but come on! Julie handled the let down pretty gracefully, so much so that these fine gentlemen paid for the alcohol portion of our meal, which was GENEROUS. My wine was way over a hundred euro (!!!) and Julie had about 316 Fanta and vodkas. Pierre and Jacques then tried to guide us towards their sports car for some further drinking, but it was time to call it a night. Thank you, Pierre and Jacques!  It was a lovely meal. If you ever come to the states I hope to shower you with coca cola and burgers! Merci beaucoup!

What happens in Paris...happens in Paris

Paris…and the Best Bread in the World!

Last month, I ventured to Paris and Berlin with my dearest friend Julie. We had a blast despite the weather (temperatures in the 40s…in July! And rain. Every day.) How can you not have a grand time in Paris? We had a plan of casual days that included casual, cafe-type lunches and fancy, decadent dinners. Every meal we ingested did not disappoint, but this post is going to focus on one thing only: the carbohydrates. Think buttery, flaky croissants. Think macaroons and meringue cookies. Think warm baguettes. We thought all of these things, and then ate them.

Yep, we are really wearing berets in Paris. Deal with it.

Our first night we were understandably jet-lagged. We made a point of depositing our bags in our hotel (we stayed right outside of Paris proper in the Levallois-Perret district…adorable, affordable, and one block from a metro station) and getting out for some scenery and food. No naps allowed. The first day was very polite and did not actually rain. We walked along the Seine and relaxed in the Jardin des Tuileries outside of the Louvre. We ate a nice, proper French lunch where I ingested an entire cow and perhaps the tastiest rosemary potatoes in the entire world. I’d show you a picture but this post is only supposed to focus on carbs! Oh, what the hell.

courtesy of Le Clos Bourguignon by the Opera Metro stop

Back to the carbs…we managed to stay awake until about 7:00 Paris time. Neither of us being entirely hungry or capable of sitting at a restaurant for supper without our heads dropping into the soup, we decided to hit up a Patissiere and get some croissants. Patissiere Paul is actually a chain in Paris. Everything in the display case looked mouth-watering delicious. We ordered a variety of goodies in our fractured French and retired to our hotel room to dine in bed.

Dinner, Day 1

There is nothing like scarfing down a croissant, a beignet (think fancy donut) and a pistachio meringue cookie right before bedtime. I awoke around midnight to see Julie awake, eating another croissant. And why not? We were in freaking Paris!

Two days later, feeling ever so much better and now pretty familiar with the Metro, we decided to find a particular patisserie. Every year, the Grand Prix de la Baguette de Tradition Française de la Ville de Paris is awarded to a baguette that is deemed the best in the world. We were looking for Boulanger Patisserie “Au Levain d’Antan” where Pascal Barillon took home the 2011 title. It was a small shop with a modest sign boasting of the accolade. We bought a baguette and retired to a nearby park for a simple breakfast al fresco. We didn’t have butter, we didn’t have olive oil, but hey, this is supposed to be the best bread in the world! We shouldn’t need any condiments.

Ladies and Gentlemen...the best baguette in ze world! (Clearly, I'm excited)

And did it stand up to all the hype? Absolutely. This bread was perfectly crispy on the outside, and soft and doughy on the inside. The flavor was pleasant and slightly sweet. No butter needed, although I can imagine how good the baguette would taste sopping up some extra virgin olive oil. We walked around the neighborhood enjoying this real treat. The shop is actually located right by the Sacre Coeur church, so check it out if you are taking in that scene. Check it out even if you’re not, so worth it.

Extreme close-up

Paris: Redux

With my trip to France and Germany just days away, I’m reminiscent of the last time I went to Paris. I was 22, studying abroad in London, and having the time of my life. By the way, usually when I say “I was studying abroad” I follow it with “Her name was Stacy or Karen or insert-female-name”. Luckily, I didn’t subject you to that.

Paris, 2003. Ah, to be young and eating a baguette again!

My whole study program went on this long weekend trip together and we stayed in a hotel. This itself was a pretty amazing thing, as we had been staying in some, uh, interesting hostels during our own excursions into Europe (think moldy showers and crazy Australian bunk mates). A hotel! In Paris! Oh lala!

We hit up the Louvre, and the Sacre Coeur. We travelled in late Fall, and there was something so poetically badass about walking along the Seine River all wrapped up, taking in the city. My favorite excursion in Paris was the Catacombs. An underground maze with stacks and stacks of bones of long dead Parisians, it was quite an experience. And of course, it made us work up quite an appetite. We decided to stop by The Angelina Tearoom, which is an elegant restaurant with tuxedoed waiters and, reputedly, the best cup of hot chocolate in the entire galaxy. It arrived on a silver platter, the aroma of warm chocolate strong and mouth-watering. When the chocolate was poured into our teacups, it was a consistency more akin to pudding than to a beverage. The Angelina variety of hot chocolate is basically several very good, very strong bars of African chocolate melted into a glass and served with cream. Sounds amazing! What could be bad about this, right?

Little did I know, this magical cup of chocolate would take me on a magical adventure

And it was delicious. Decadent, thick and creamy, satisfying every taste bud. I sat back in my chair, a chocolate mustache drawn above my lip, and felt content. Momentarily. And then I started to feel…strange. Very strange. My heart began to race and I began to sweat. Something was not right. As it is, I have an issue with my heart and caffeine is not very good for it. So perhaps it was not the best idea to ingest a caffeine-heavy soup of chocolate. My friends dragged me back to the hotel, where I lay on my bed and hallucinated. Hours later, I was still in Lala land as they took off for an evening climb of the Eiffel Tower. I was so disappointed that I could not go! But I was semi-conscious, and foaming at the mouth.

So the question is: was it worth it? You bet your sweet A! This cup of chocolate was worth the mini heart attack. Now, I’ve promised my mother I will not drink it again on this forthcoming trip, but that’s probably a good thing. After all, I need to see the Eiffel Tower.

 

Happy 4th, Y’all: A down-home Florida edition

Florida is a strange, strange place. It feels like its own entity, its own unique nation because you can travel from tip to tip and go through so many different “regions”. I am qualified to make such statements because my family moved to South Florida when I was nine years old. I went to college in the “ultra southern” northern panhandle, and even spent a stint in the bible-belt  middle section outside Orlando. I’ve seen it all. You can’t get anymore American than Florida, so it was quite appropriate that I spent my Independence Day basking in its hot, humid breath.

Skipping the hot dogs this year, I opted for something truly local for my 4th of July feast: alligator.  Mmm gator, under that tough exterior you offer me some pretty tasty flesh. No, it doesn’t taste like chicken, its flavor is of a more exotic variety, a slightly fishy, reptilian note that brings to mind calamari. Its darn tasty. But I needed the full experience so I headed down to the Everglades Holiday Park with my friends Robyn and Ian for some air boat riding and some gator wrestling.

Oh, the humidity! Happy 4th from the Everglades.

The Everglades is a unique ecosystem that is part swamp, part marsh, and all mosquito. We took our trusty air boat ( an interesting vessel that glides over shallow water with the help of a turbo fan) the “Stump Jumper”  through the sawgrass. We saw birds, fish, and gators. Quite a few of them.

I'll be eating you later, buddy.

After the ride, we watched some alligator wrestling and then inquired from the locals as to a good place to get a bite of gator. We were steered towards “Cafe 27″ a truck stop establishment located on, well, Highway 27. It was just a bunch of Tiki Huts hugging the highway, and it was perfect. Of course we started with the gator bites, succulent bits of gator meat fried and served with a tangy remoulade sauce. 

You have to eat it before it eats you

For my main course, I opted for a pulled pork BBQ sandwich. It was pretty tasty, though nothing too unique or special. We did share a basket of sweet potato fries covered in honey, syrup and cinnamon. THOSE were good.

Cinnamon fries, mmm hmmm

Stuffed to the brink, we headed back to Robyn’s house for some traditional fireworks. We did make a pit stop at the greatest super market of all time, Publix. I needed to pick up another Florida staple: Key lime Pie. Gator and pie in one holiday! What more could you ask for? It was a very unique and special celebration of our nation’s independence, and I was more than happy to spend it in my “hometown” of Florida with good friends. Hope y’all had a great day as well!

Okay, I went to Publix, I can go back to New York now