The Tyranny of Freedom
Bridgid: Appetites, what are they really telling us? Oh, HI. I was just staring off at a Newsweek cover.
But really, I’ve been a-thinking about appetites. While food soothes stomach acids, it is the search that can be even more engaging. Deliberation over a solitary lunch spot, a brand of chips from a Bodega at 2am, or a wordy cocktail menu- these are ways of deciding what would best compliment the exact moment. It’s meditation on the present.
Sometimes you feed on compromise, of allowing your will to be bent by someone else’s suggestion of say, “Let’s get a bunch of Guac and Margs.” It was John Flynn, on this feast who ventured, “Let’s find somewhere else for dessert.” And so we did. We’d had a less-than-acceptable meal and the thrill of the chase beckoned us to keep searching: we were unsatisfied. Ice cream consumption is a mute button for anxiety. It is an easy choice. Another mute button is trend-chasing. Being at an “it” spot makes me feel “still alive.” Still pulsing. So, Momofuku Milk bar, while no longer pulsed-about, is the people-who-know- sweet shoppe. A few nights ago, this ice cream boutique attended to our needs to feel. To feel a spike in blood sugar and a spike in my sense of “Look at me…Here!” We’d found something delicious and exclusive though, for all my talk about meditating on the now, a bit 2009.
I’d enjoyed cereal milk soft serve and a crack cookie from here in the past. This night Bryan, John Flynn, and I each ordered something different because we are special angels. John suprised me by choosing and espresso milkshake. Bryan had a pretzel milk soft serve with a sprinkling of cornflake topping. I had fried apple pie and pretzel milk soft serve twist. We HAD to get out of there, as I recall, because there was a bunch of drunk i-bankers, and the thought of watching them slurp ice cream while talking about past fun was not a quest of mine. We walked west, all clutching a cup of some form. No cones to be had, as I recal. A soggy cup with droplets of sugary ice cream at the bottom makes me feel unfinished. There’s something magical about eating every object in your hands.
Bryan: Momofuku Milk Bar is the id of New York bakeries. They make the sweets we really want to eat but are ashamed to admit, dessert as drug. Filled with processed sugars, fats and salts, their recipes could have been designed by a diabetic five year old. Chewy and crunchy, cookies are filled with candy, pretzels and chips. Ice cream is soaked in Frosted Flakes before frozen. Freshness and seasonality have their virtues, but they have no place here. I have friends who say everything at Milk Bar is too sweet, too salty, too much. That’s the point.
Momofuku Milk Bar
251 East 13th Street (2nd Ave)
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