Tag Archives: soup

I like it ice cold

I want my ice cream cold, so cold that my tongue shouldn’t even be able to touch it, not safely. I want you to have to take it out of the deep-freeze freezer, you’ll actually have to put it in the microwave just to take it down a bit, just a couple of degrees, to where it’s still way too cold to touch, I still can’t lick it, I’d still get a major ice-burn on my tongue if I attempted premature contact.

And then I want the spoon to be warmed up, not in a microwave, obviously, you can’t put metal in the microwave. Maybe I could find some sort of a composite spoon? All right, give me a spoon made out of the same material they make hockey sticks and golf clubs. I want it to be light, like ultra lightweight, so now OK, you can go ahead and throw it in the microwave for a minute or two.

If you haven’t already, you should go ahead and buy two microwaves, because I don’t want to wait around while you’re messing with different power level settings for the ice cream and for the spoon. I want them both to be warming up at the same exact time.

All of my soda has to be ice cold too. Also, the carbonation has to be really powerful. But more importantly, really, really cold. But only slightly less important, the carbonation. Don’t talk to me about freezing points, I want a colder-than-ice Coca-Cola that somehow hasn’t turned into a block of ice. I’ve seen it done before, it was science class in high school, or a science TV show that the science teacher showed us on one of those days where she didn’t feel like teaching, it was something about not disturbing the liquid, or putting something inside of it, and it’ll stay liquid.

You know that sensation you get when you first take a sip of a really ice cold drink? Like you can feel it working its way down your esophagus? I want that with every sip, not just the first. And I don’t want to feel it just in my esophagus, I want to feel it all the way down, snaking its way through my intestines, that refreshing feeling chilling a path throughout my whole digestive system.

My soup also has to be really cold. I don’t care what time of year you’re supposed to traditionally eat gazpacho, I’d like it in January, February, if there’s an unseasonably cold stretch through March or April, I’m going to order gazpacho then also, along with other summertime soups, watermelon bisque … I can’t think of any other cold soups, but I know they’re out there, and again, ice cold, I want you to serve me a whole tube of Sensodyne as an appetizer, something to really numb up my gums, I want to hold a big mouthful and really let my whole head cool off.

Iced coffee, iced tea, ice, ice cold. And don’t bother with the regular ice cubes. I want ice cubes made out of iced coffee and iced tea. It has to be cold brewed, by the way. I don’t want anything that’s ever been heated up. I mean, yes, to some extent, I’m always going to have to acknowledge the fact that the earth was formed out of a ball of cooling molten rock, but that’s just it, it’s cooling, it’s getting there.

My favorite planet is Pluto. My favorite sport is ice hockey. If I got to choose a superpower, it would definitely be ice powers. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about talking about any of this nonsense. Give me a hot soup, go ahead, I’ll ice you dead in your tracks, that hot soup’s never going to make it over to my table. And then next idiot server who even thinks about sending over another bowl, he’s going to think again. He’s going to bring me the coldest one they’ve got. And then – zap! – ice powers to make it even colder, and I’ll be able to take it, no frost-burn, no Sensodyne, just straight up cold, colder than all of the Coors Light in the Rockies.

Because seriously, I can’t emphasize enough, I really like my stuff cold. Make sure you tell the chef, because I’ve got a thermometer right here. I’m going to use it, and I’m going to send it back. It’s all just a matter of how many times I’m going to send it back. Got it?

Food Truck Review: The Steel Cart

You’ve got to check out The Steel Cart, an insanely good food truck roaming about the streets of New York. Seriously, go there for lunch tomorrow, you know, if you live in New York City. Or, if you’re planning on traveling to New York in the future. That’s not too farfetched, right? I’m assuming I have a global audience. Would it be crazy to imagine people reading this review from some faraway land and planning a vacation based around what I’m about to write? I don’t think so. Maybe getting there by tomorrow might be out of the question for you out-of-towners. But seriously, no later than next week, because this place is getting big, and who knows how far that line’s going to be snaking around the block by this time two weeks from now?

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Listen, you might be a little skeptical. “When did Rob turn into a food critic?” you might ask yourself. Which is a stupid question. I’ve reviewed tons of food already. I wrote about how much I loved Taco Bell’s Doritos Locos taco. One time I wrote about a day last summer when I ate thirty hot dogs in under an hour. Plus there’s this whole piece about how I like my steak medium-rare.

And I love food trucks. New York City has tons of food trucks. There’s this place by my house that makes some of the best falafel in the world. Oh yeah, I wrote about that also. See? I have tons of food critic experience. Well, maybe not tons, but handfuls. Let’s make those fistfuls. It sounds a little tougher, a little big more legitimate.

Back to The Steel Cart. Like I said, there are almost too many food trucks to choose from. And that’s what I was dealing with, that paradox of choice as I found myself running late for work one afternoon. I was desperately hungry for some lunch, but I only had like ten minutes to grab a bite without risking showing up late, my manager pointing his finger at me, “I told you that if you were late one more time that would be it!”

I couldn’t make a decision. It’s a food truck renaissance out there. You can get lobster rolls, artisanal donuts, Korean barbeque, and that’s not to mention the glut of regular boring chicken-and-rice food trucks taking up prime real estate on every other city block. The choices are endless. But I noticed The Steel Cart standing out from the rest of the pack. I’d never tried it before, but the menu looked pretty cool.

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The Steel Cart did not disappoint. It was like a history-altering epiphany of flavor weaved into each bite. I’m talking about your standard fare, your sandwiches, your soups, but everything was done a little bit nicer, each plate assembled with just the right amount of artisanal craft. I tried their Bird of a Feather sandwich. If someone came up to me with a gun and told me to describe it in exactly three words, I’d quickly say, “It’s a chicken salad sandwich! Don’t shoot! Please!” And then the crazed gunman might say, “I said three words exactly!” and I’d be like, “That was three words. Chicken, salad, and sandwich,” but he’d say, “No, you also said ‘don’t shoot’ and all of that other stuff.” Click.

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Luckily I’m not constrained by any specific word count, because it’s so much more than just regular chicken salad. As I took my first bite, I couldn’t even begin to pinpoint the onslaught of flavors jockeying for attention from my taste buds. The friendly trio manning the cart explained to me a little bit of what went into their creation: celery seed, agave, green apple slaw. It was so tasty that I couldn’t slow down my jaw to really appreciate each subtle flavor. So I ordered another one.

I actually wound up being really late for work, much later than I had ever been before. But I couldn’t help it. The sandwiches were so good. And these guys make Turkish coffee. They have their own custom kiln or whatever it is you call that copper pot used to brew an individual serving (I looked it up. It’s called an ibrik.) Luckily, I work for a restaurant, and just as my boss was about to give me the boot, I told him that I was out scouting for ideas from some of the local food trucks. He got this insane glint in his eye, like maybe he was going to go out there and steal all the good ideas from The Steel Cart. So when he asked me where, I pointed in the direction of some lame-o chicken-and-rice operation down the block. I can’t believe he bought it.

Go check out The Steel Cart. Sometimes they’re in Brooklyn, sometimes in Midtown Manhattan. Like most of these mobile operations, you kind of have to rely on good luck like I did, or you can follow them on Twitter and find out where they’ll be. It was great. I can’t wait to try out their other sandwiches. And hopefully they see this link, they read it, and they send me a box of sandwiches, just like Pepperidge Farm did when I wrote about how much I love Milanos.