Heya!

Welcome to Yum Yum Fun. It's my lil temple in the sky, dedicated to some of the things I like best: food, friendship, and - of course - fun. My background is eclectic and culinary; Dad's family is Italian, nestled in the hills of West Virginia and mom's family is bougie, Russian Jewish. My nannu makes wine + salami, my dad makes incredible oxtail stew, my mom has a catering business, my grandfather loves a martini up with a twist. Long story short: storytelling and foodie sharing is in my DNA. I'm excited about authenticity, community, and eccentricity -- and people just having a good, effing time. Beyond #YYF, I'm a producer at a digital agency in Soho, write for Chowhound, consult for chefs/influencers, and throw dinner parties whenever possible.  

Ga Head - Have Yaself A Perfect Lil Saturday

Ga Head - Have Yaself A Perfect Lil Saturday

Writing this #YYF post after a perfect lil Saturday. I met @dscalone (follow him on Instagram, ladies) at his apartment circa 9:18am, after a Friday evening filled with 3++ too many aperol spritzes, a weird date, and too little sleep (did I mention I've been sleeping on my couch for 4 weeks?). I had grabbed provisions for us for the road (the RCP weekend special via Shelsky's - a toasted sesame bagel with plain shmear, nova lox, cucumber and onion) and Danny was waiting outside his apartment with iced coffee, a jaunty bball cap, and a full tank of gas. The dream team was united. 

We sped off for Jones Beach with the windows down (again, no ac, sensing a trend here?), tearing into our bagels, catching up on 20-something drama (will we ever afford real estate?), and trying not to catch on fire as we passed a massive smoke show as we headed North. 

Once we got to the beach, we set up camp -cotton sheet over hot hot sand, Coppertone 50+ (ginger in the house), paperback books (hello "Blood, Bones & Butter" for the 90th time), Rihanna/Jay Z style umbrell-er and laughter for days. We were surrounded on all sides by the best of Brooklyn which is to say high school vape gangs, babes in fringe bathing suits, tried and true beach bums with the perfect equation of boom box / magazines / BBQ, and the sounds of Drake wafting slowly over the beach like the ghosts of Strong Island come back to life. Danny and I took a dip in the waves and, as expected, he looked like a Grecian god and I got pulled under the waves like Kate Winslet in "Titanic" (there was seaweed in my bum by the time we hit the b-room), and we laughed some more. We came back to our lil island in the sun, and decided it was time for an epic Italian event - L & B Spumoni Garden. 

Danny and I have been homies for 2 years+ and we've discussed L & Spumoni many times (it's a favorite of his) but we had never found the perfect slot to hit it up. But today we were in the groove - in the midst of beach bae status - so we got the Hall & Oates going and cruised towards Graves End. 

Now - before we get to the pizza - I should mention that Graves End in and of itself is worth the trek. It's sort of a land untouched by time with little slivers of houses, ironic signage ("u fine grocery" is a personal favorite), crumbling rose and peony gardens, and retired old dudes sitting on their porch swings with faded tattoos and cigarettes cemented into their mouths. It reminded me a bit of my where my dad grew up in West Virginia (hi fam!) - that hybrid mixture of a land forgotten by time, urban decay, and restless beauty that you can feel like a drum kit as you walk down the street. 

But I digress. 

We rolled up to L & B Spumoni with the other bedraggled beach-goers, and ordered 5 slices of the classic slice, two waters, and his & hers spumoni (gotta eat the hand spun shit the joint is knownnnn for). The pizza also reminded me of a West Virginia fam favorite (if you're reading this, dad - I'm talking about DiCarlo's); the pizza was cut into thick square slices, with a delicccccious (almost) sweet red sauce, and minimal cheese, not shredded but rather placed in sheets spontaneously. Each slice was $2.75 and totally delish, piping hot and perfectly casual on a paper plate. We swigged the water down, scoped out the mafioso looking clientele and then grabbed our his & hers spumoni which was also off the chain. The ice cream was thrown into paper cups, almost spilling over, and had the classic 50s coloration - tingly green, soft brown, and white. And it tasted like a dream as it melted over, falling onto my white leather sandals and pooling in my toes...delightfully if grossly. 

We took a second to bask in the pizza glow and then hit the road, riding past forgotten synagogues and brick houses just hurtin for a remake. I'm sitting here writing this to y'all on my couch, with non-existent ac (it's a curse, people), and chuckling all over against about getting taken down in those god forsaken waves.

Is there anything better than summer?  

 

Red Hook Redux

Red Hook Redux

The Chef's Special

The Chef's Special