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About Nadya

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  • Birthday 08/19/1973

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    Who's Your Trinidaddy?

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  1. Thanks for the zabhiah tip, that's helpful.
  2. I am an immigrant married to an immigrant, and a mother of two children with weird names so they are as good as immigrants. So trust me when I tell you that I have nothing but respect for immigrants, for those who work three jobs, and bust ass to create better lives for their family by opening businesses in a tried-and-true mold. This isn't the point. How the cuisine isn't inclusive: Say I'm someone who only eats halal. Where can I get a fancy French meal? A well-made pizza? Awesome Chinese? A damn burger? A steak? Why must I be limited to kabobs and karahis? Halal isn't a cuisine. Mus
  3. Here is the dialogue I have with my DH on a biweekly basis that illustrates two main problems with the halal restaurants. "Let's go out for dinner tonight". "Not the fucking kabob or chicken karahi again." "Oh come on. It's a restaurant." "But are the napkins made of cloth?" I will break it down for you. The first problem with halal restaurants is that they operate in a ghetto of their own making, confining themselves to the known. This is typically the Indopak and the Middle Eastern variety, with little imagination or effort to get creative with other cuisines
  4. On my only visit to Shamshiry a few weeks ago I found it to be wholly pedestrian. I have wanted to like it very much, and it generally takes some work for anything Persian or Middle Eastern to disappoint me. Chicken kabobs were only marginally moister than beef jerky, bread unremarkable, rice alright but undistinguishable from a handful of other area mom-and-pop operations, and ambience nonexistent. I'm all for hole-in-the-wall delights but food has to be good, and grown-up restaurants ambitions, if entertained, have to be supported by reality on the floor. They have failed to deliver (to me)
  5. ITA with what he says. Also, what's with not being able to park within two blocks? Return, ghetto charms!
  6. In my limited burgerdom experience, the use of a knife and fork settles this problem in a rather convincing fashion. Zero tolerance to eating with your hands = zero fat and mayo drippage problem.
  7. I get it. Central is officially the New Palena. With the distinction that I have never actually kissed Frank nor pinched his bottom. And, to be perfectly honest, smarter-looking crowd. I cannot get enough of the burger with all its trimmings. I don't really understand people who order it without bacon or cheese. I adore its complete absence of restraint and unabashed over-the-topness of glistening brioche AND luscious patty AND never-too-crispy bacon AND delicate touille AND generous dabbings of mayo. Cedric's study of brisket midcourse bears the stamp of Michel Richard's playful, elegant
  8. After careful consideration, I concur. Actually, not after one second of consideration. How do you prefer one to the other? They are two totally different experiences. Dining at Citronelle is a major production that requires planning, deliberation, hours of grooming and selecting the right shoes, and weeks of fasting thereafter to repair the bottom line and the waist line. Dining at Central, well, you can pop in in your skankiest jeans, eat a damn good burger at the bar and bugger off, all in under an hour. I can see doing it regularly, mostly in the mirror, as I ate and drank at Central three
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