By Nora Zelevansky / April 23rd, 2009


You know when you just need a burger?

I'm not sure what the equivalent would be for all you veggies out there, but sometimes we carnivores just get a protein craving and suddenly nothing else will do.  Well, that's exactly what happened last Friday, as S., C.C.R., her baby and I wandered through Central Park on one of Manhattan's first warm days in a while.

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(CLICK TO ENLARGE: C.C.R. & S and Fabu Cherry Blossom Trees)

We naively imagined (or maybe we just collectively pretended to imagine) that we could actually expediently get a table for lunch at The Boathouse on such a beautiful day.  But when we arrived, the line for the restroom alone seemed to be at least 20 minutes.  For a waterfront table, we'd have to wait an hour and half and give up one of our first born.  Since C.C.R. is pretty smitten with her child, we decided we had to go elsewhere.  But not before our ravenous hunger was catapulted to another level when we spotted The Boathouse burger (which seemed to be served with, yup, tater tots–I MEAN).

Of course, my Upper West inclination is always to go old school, so–having decided we needed beef STAT–I racked my brain for a place to satiate our growing hunger.  Unfortunately, all I effectively achieved was creating shared depression over the closing of Diane's (a former neighborhood standard with great inexpensive burgers and pickles omnipresent condiment-style on the table like a given).  Like THE given.

Luckily, S. is a little less sentimental and suggested that, instead of mourning while starving, we head over to the new uptown annex of The Shake Shack.  After all, it seems a little silly to hunger strike about something that already closed.  Hunger striking about the closing of a burger spot that's still open, on the other hand, is not silly at all.

("The Doublemint Twins" according to V., with whom we met up later)

Let me just get this out of the way: As if we weren't hungry and grumpy enough, S. & I showed up to meet each other in the EXACT same outfit.  Striped three-quarter-length sleeved, boat-necked tee, jeans, Ray-Bans and converse.  This is no new phenomenon for us, as people have been asking us if we were sisters since kindergarten, but it is uncanny how this often manages to happen.  And, since all three of us have known each other since we were four, you can imagine that C.C.R. was plenty amused.

ANYWAY . . . I was suspicious of trying somewhere new within my childhood stomping ground, but as soon as S. pointed out the "Root Beer On Tap," I was sold.  She knows the way to my heart, I guess.  It's a twin thang.

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(CLICK TO EXPAND IMAGES: S.'s Burger and The Menu With Root Beer On Tap)

The whole meal felt fortuitous, as we found a table with room for C.C.R.'s little bundle and all just at the moment our food came up at the counter (who needs pricey waterfront tater tots anyway).  But let me tell you something: I looked at my burger and I thought, "Eh–it doesn't look like anything so special."  Then I took a bite.  Then I inhaled the whole damn thing.  The burger itself was so flavorful that I hardly even think it needed most of the condiments.  And the french fries?  DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED.  My only suggestion: some other types of dipping sauces to mix things up, although I guess if a classic ain't broke . . .


(Even Baby Agrees!)

Just when I thought I'd had enough burgers and fries to last me a life time (thanks to this whole upscale street food craze), I had some newbies that blew me away.

Plus, I just love some girls who can really eat (you know, being one myself).  I guess it's just a triplet thang.

xo – N.



By Nora Zelevansky / April 22nd, 2009


So, this week I had a baby. No big thang.
GOSH.  No wonder I'm feeling lazy about POCKET LINTING.
  I'm exhausted.

No.  Just kidding.  I never feel lazy about blogging to you guys.  Okay, actually, I do feel lazy.  All the damn time.  But I am kidding about the baby thing.  In case you thought I actually had a baby; in fact,  I'm just tiiiired.

Anyhoooz . . . I just got back today from two weeks away in NYC and Miami (hence the east coast posts) and my voice sounds super manly (gotta love sexy voice) thanks to a sore throat.  So, today a short little post:

The above pic was taken on a beautiful Friday in Central Park, when S., C.C.R. & and I ran into some other friends and their new baby.  No, not mine (although she's sure cute enough to claim).  But my intention in posting this pic is actually not to show off a cute babe (in arms) or even to brag about my beautiful stroll through Central Park (ending up at Shake Shack, but we'll chat about that lates–promise).

Actually, I realized that I haven't followed up on my Revitalash challenge (partially cause I wanted to show dramatic results) and, though I haven't been quite religious in my application, I've been using the stuff almost every night for a month.  I saw this photo and was struck, yeah, okay, first by the adorable cutie, but then afterward by the fact that my lashes look a bit longer and thicker, no?

Soon I'll do a formal eyelash photo op, but I do think they already look a bit better, right?  Even being somewhat obscured by sunlight?  Maybe I'm just hoping against hope?  Or maybe, just maybe, my new and improved eyelashes are fab all the way home.

xo – N.

P.S. On an unrelated note, did anyone else notice that Kristin from The Biggest Loser went right home and put the blonde streaks back in her hair?  I mean, dude.  Professional stylists tried to help you by dying your hair back to solid and you go and re-frost within 24-hours?  For shame.