Food & Drinks Archives

Mac n’ Cheese Weekend for my Birthday

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I always like to celebrate my birthday with a special dinner. This time around, I was not interested in finding a place to safely dine-out or ordering in, I only wanted one thing: my dad’s mac and cheese.

When I was growing up, mac and cheese was one of the dishes that my family would make all the time. It is simple and delicious, but my dad has a “secret recipe” that makes it extra special. Mac and cheese is something that I can never get tired of, so I enjoyed having cheesy comfort food with my loved ones in honor of my birthday.

Starting Weekend Whiskey Time

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One great thing about New York being a “melting pot” is the availability of products from different parts of the world. I was able to pick up some Nikka Whiskey all the way from Japan. Unlike most Whiskeys made here in the U.S., Nikka Whiskey has a nice and light taste.

To enhance the experience of a great alcoholic beverage, I poured the drink in my Tiffany’s crystal glass and added some Geo cube ice balls. The lighting in my apartment was especially beautiful on this day. I could not imagine a better way to wind down for the weekend.

Bubbles from the Mountains

Two coupe glasses catch the light on the countertop, pale gold and busy with a quiet rush of bubbles. Beside them, a bottle stands half-turned, label clean and spare, as if it doesn’t want to interrupt the moment. Even the cap set off to the side feels deliberate, a small punctuation mark.

Bubbles from the Mountains is the kind of phrase that makes you pause. It suggests elevation and cold air, the long patience of hills, and the way a place can shape what ends up in your glass. The Catskills have that steady presence—familiar but never fully known—where ordinary evenings can feel a little more spacious.

I like sparkling wine for how it changes the room. Not louder, not busier—just brighter. It turns a kitchen counter into a table worth lingering at. It makes you notice the shape of the glass, the faint swirl of foam at the edges, the tiny constellations rising up and vanishing.

There’s something comforting in that: a simple ritual that doesn’t ask for a special occasion. Just pour, listen, and let the day settle. Outside, the mountains keep their own time. Inside, the bubbles do the same—brief, shimmering, and perfectly enough.

Cooking with Koji

The first thing I notice is the quiet order of the room: pans hanging in place, utensils lined up, the kind of kitchen that feels lived-in without being loud about it. Three people stand around portable burners, aprons tied on, heads bent toward the small, careful work that turns ingredients into something warmer than the sum of its parts.

Cooking with Koji sounds like a lesson in a single ingredient, but it’s really an introduction to time. Koji asks for patience the way an old house asks you to listen—subtle changes, small aromas, a shift in texture that’s easy to miss if you rush.

In the photo, there’s a calm focus as someone offers a small dish across the counter, as if passing along a secret. A pot waits, a bottle stands by, and a tray sits ready for what comes next. Nothing looks dramatic, and that’s the point. The most memorable kitchens aren’t always the ones that perform; they’re the ones that hum.

Koji sits at the center of so much Japanese cooking—miso, soy sauce, sake—quiet foundations that make everyday food taste deeper, rounder, more complete. Watching it up close reminds me that tradition isn’t a museum thing. It’s a practiced thing, repeated until it becomes natural, like reaching for the same coat in winter without thinking.

If you’ve been curious about fermenting, start here: with a simple workspace, shared attention, and the willingness to let flavor grow.

Weekend lunch and snacks

Weekend lunch and snacks doesn’t have to be loud to feel like a small ceremony.

On the table, everything is simple and deliberate: toasted bread cut into thick slices; a soft, herbed cheese waiting like a quiet centerpiece; a small cup of mustard with a spoon that looks used exactly once; and, off to the side, little toasts layered with tomato, mozzarella, and basil. The colors do most of the talking.

It’s the kind of meal that feels borrowed from a slower world. Nothing is rushed. You build each bite in your hands, tasting what’s fresh, what’s salted, what’s still warm from the toast. The basil sits on top like a final thought. The tomatoes look like they were chosen carefully, not because they were perfect, but because they were ready.

I like lunches like this on the weekend because they leave room for the rest of the day. You can eat, pause, look out a window, and feel the hours open up again. It’s not a feast, not really. It’s more like a reminder that a few good ingredients, arranged with care, can make the ordinary feel bright and settled.

If there’s a secret here, it’s attention: to texture, to taste, to the quiet satisfaction of making something small and complete.

Weekend Vaca with Boo in NOFO

The weekend in NOFO felt like the kind of pause you don’t plan, you just fall into.

The sky was a wide, soft gray—nothing dramatic, just a ceiling of cloud that made the water look steadier and more honest. We stood close at the edge of it all, shoulder to shoulder, letting the wind do what it wanted with our shirts and our hair, letting the moment be unposed even as the camera caught it.

There’s a comfort in getting away with someone you love and realizing you don’t have to fill every second. A short drive turns into a different rhythm: slower meals, longer looks, quiet jokes that only make sense to the two of you. NOFO has that effect. It doesn’t demand a checklist. It just gives you room.

I keep thinking about how places can hold feelings the way old houses hold heat—subtle, stored up, and easy to miss until you step back inside your own life. This trip wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It was the simple relief of salt air, an arm around a shoulder, and the ocean stretching out like a reset button.

If you want the little details and reactions, the Instagram comments tell the rest of the story.

Getting cheesy and wine-y

There are some afternoons that don’t ask for much. A table in the open air. Two glasses catching the light. A small board that looks simple at first and then keeps unfolding—soft cheese, thin folds of cured meat, crackers stacked like a quiet promise.

Getting cheesy and wine-y feels like a joke you repeat because it’s true. You sit down intending to “just have a little,” and then the minutes stretch out, loosening at the edges. The chilled glass sweats. The wood table holds old rings and new ones. Conversation takes its time.

I love how food like this makes its own weather. Nothing is rushed. You break a cracker, you cut into the cheese, you find the exact bite that tastes like summer—salt, cream, a little tang, a little fizz. It’s not a big production, but it feels like an occasion anyway.

And maybe that’s the point of a girls weekend: not doing something extraordinary, but letting the ordinary become brighter and bigger for a while. The kind of easy gathering you remember later, not because it was perfect, but because it was settled—good company, good wine, and a table that didn’t need anything else.

Ummm Rosé Season came hard

There’s a certain kind of light that shows up when the weather turns—soft, a little golden, like the day is finally willing to linger. And somehow it always ends the same way: standing in front of a glass-door fridge, staring at rows of rosé like it’s a small, pink promise.

Ummm Rosé Season came hard.

The bottles line up neatly behind the cold glass, labels facing forward, blush tones stacked in gradients from pale peach to deeper strawberry. It feels almost ceremonial, like the store is quietly acknowledging a shift: the heavy reds step back, and something brighter takes the front.

I like the way a chilled case hums—steady, practical—while the colors inside look like summer trying to break through. It’s simple, but it carries that familiar feeling of seasons changing: a little anticipation, a little relief. The same world, just edited by temperature and light.

Maybe that’s the whole point of rosé season. Not the drink itself, exactly, but the permission it gives. To sit outside longer. To eat slower. To let an ordinary evening feel like it has edges worth remembering.

So yes—came hard. And honestly, I’m not mad about it.

30th Bday with Bae, My 2017 Birthday Celebration

| #birthday #party #boyfriendswhobirthday

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| For my 30th birthday in 2017, I was told I had to “do it big”. A concept I have never really been into for my birthday celebrations. However, being the big three zero, I decided to give it a shot.

Burger Brunch Booyah!

| ??? | #burger #brunch #booyah @davidscafenyc

| Wow, what can I say, this burger was worth all the hype at David’s Cafe! The Burger Queen Deluxe is a double patty with American cheese, pickles, lettuce, tomato and a special sauce.

Weekend means Morning Coffee so Gimme

| ☕️?? | #coffee #boyfriendsWhoBrew #weekend @gimmecoffee

| Gimme that coffee please! Angel and I have been in our new apartment for several months now and we have been an a quest for a new coffee place.

Usagi and Mooshi Time at Tokyo Record Bar

| ??? | #nyu #japanese #oishi @tokyorecordbar

| Accidentally, Mikey (Usagi) and I (Mooshi) made reservations at one of 2017 summer’s most trendy restaurants, Tokyo Record Bar. There are a few interesting gimmicks about this eatery:

First, it is a small Japanese style restaurant that has the feel of “small & off the beaten path”.

The location itself is the basement of a champagne bar in NYU-town and only seats about 14 people. To enter the bar you must be lead through a champagne bar, down a small set of stairs, and into a small 8×10 foot room. At the beginning of your meal each person at your table chooses a song from a playlist that will be played through the meal. An in-house DJ will compile the songs into a playlist and the fun starts. For the record, pun intended, I chose the song “Creep” by TLC. The locations serves two seatings a night and the entire meal is coursed, without substitutions. I will not spoil the last course for you, but it is not your typical Japanese dish. Overall the experience was good and I give it a B+ rating. I do think the art painted on the walls is especially good; there are even mountains that look like breast. However I think the fox in kimono stole the show in the whimsey department.

The food was not 5-star quality and wish the restaurant would have played more into storytelling that they did at the beginning and end of the meal. That being said, the price was right, but still prevented this from being an “A” in my book. I would still recommend the experience of a Japanese style pub, especially when given the changes to enjoy some music on vinyl.

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