GASTRONORMOUS

After visiting the Flea in search of antiques (by which I mean I went just to eat and if I happened to peruse some vintage merch, so be it), and being terribly disappointed to not find the Kumquat Cupcakery booth in operation that day, my friend Em and I left in search of cupcakes on the outside. We quickly came across Tillie’s, where we ordered cappucinos and I, a lemon-lime cupcake. I didn’t realize until after I purchased the confection that it was in fact a vegan cupcake from Red Bamboo, the neighborhood’s go-to spot for vegetarian Caribbean, soul, and junk food. I must admit that I then approached the cupcake with trepidation. I am picky about my buttercream, and I abhor the (what I assume to be) whipped crisco and sugar that passes for buttercream at many a bakery. Since there is obviously no real butter in a vegan cupcake, how good this one possibly be?

It turns out that is it possible for a vegan cupcake to be impossibly good. The buttercream frosting was, well, buttercreamy, and the cake was moist and flavorful. The flecks of lemon and lime zest throughout the cake and frosting only added to the scrumptiousness. Incredibly, I didn’t miss the dairy at all.

So, I am delighted to report that my first, accidental, foray into vegan baked goods was a rousing success! Nest stop, Babycakes!

My fiancée Tara and I had planned a wonderful fall outing Saturday before last. We would bike over to Prospect Park, and then head over to the 10th anniversary Target First Saturday party at the Brooklyn Museum.

On the way over to the park, our stomachs insisted we take a detour. We hadn’t eaten since breakfast and it was now nearing three o’clock. As I contemplated that eternal question, “Should I eat now and spoil my dinner?” Tara made an executive decision: we’d get some baguettes and soup for an impromptu picnic in the park.

As we closed in on Prospect Park, I scanned for options. There were some small bodegas that didn’t look like they would have the goods and some restaurants that mocked me with the smell of delicious—but slow—food. Luckily, when we hit 7th Ave and 13th street, I spotted our savior, Union Market.

Upon entering I was greeted with a gorgeous display of red ripe tomatoes, yellow corn and greens. A few steps further and I saw the most diverse offering of mushrooms I had ever seen in Brooklyn. Around the corner were dizzying towers of even more colorful and exotic food items.

I had clearly found a gourmand’s funhouse. I quickly lost Tara in the tight maze-like aisles of the market. Turning a right at a display of specialty oil, I found myself face to face with a trove of olives and other oil-cured delicacies, along with a cache of toothpicks. I am not an olive lover, but the sun-dried tomatoes beckoned. I speared one, popped it my mouth and was rewarded with a burst of intense sweetness. Yummy.

Union Market had more fantastic distractions from the task at hand. I next found mounds upon mounds of cheese, glorious cheese, which entranced me. A noise broke my reverie and I noticed the cheese monger, whistling to himself while cutting thick wedges from an enormous wheel of cheese. In front of the counter were samples of his wares: sharp parmesan slivers, and a creamy goat cheese spread on some fresh French bread. Before I knew it, cheese samples had also found their way into my mouth. I asked the man about the goat cheese. He helpfully stopped his work and retrieved a small package from the display.

“You like it? It’s on sale for $5.99.”

I thanked him, but declined the cheese; it wouldn’t last the hours before I returned home. Turning the corner, I found Tara plucking some gourmet potato chips out of a barrel.

“These are good,” she said as she fed me one.

We walked past a deli counter stocked with a tantalizing display of salads and prepared foods, and found two bubbling soup pots. I had my heart set on some clam chowder, but all they had was vegetable and chicken soups. Luckily, Union Market offers many non-soup, picnic-ready options. We decided upon some house made roasted red pepper hummus. I led Tara back through the maze, jostling customers and white-coated employees, in a quest to reach the fresh bread to go with it. Along the way, I was gracious enough to show Tara the samples she had missed.

We wanted the focaccia but felt it was too expensive for its size. So we grabbed a large round loaf of golden crusted bread and paid for our late-afternoon snack. Though at this point we almost didn’t need it–as we walked out of the store, I patted my sample-satisfied belly.

Though Union Market is a bit expensive for weekly trips to stock up on basic groceries, it is a great place to get gourmet items for special occasions at home or a picnic in the park. For those readers participating in the Brooklyn Making Strides walk this Sunday, which will be near this stretch of 7th Avenue, I encourage you to stop by and sample.

Note: Anyone interested in making donations to Making Strides and/or sponsoring my team, The Pink Crusaders, please visit pinkcrusaders.org or the team donation page. All donations go to the American Cancer Society, the nation’s largest source of private, nonprofit cancer research funds.

Union Market
402 7th Ave
Brooklyn, NY 11215
(718) 499-4026

Cake Man Raven is a store in my neighborhood that, more often than not, sells just one type of cake: red velvet. if you don’t like red velvet, you might as well walk on by. Their website actually lists several different cake flavors (and cookies, too), presumably for sale by special order, but when I asked the guy behind the counter at the shop if they ever were going to offer other flavors in the shop, he launched into a long-winded response ultimately saying that they have a hard time keeping red velvet in stock so they aren’t offering other flavors right now. That doesn’t make a lot of sense to me, I mean, so you aren’t going to sell other flavors until the red velvet isn’t selling well? One flavor selling well doesn’t seem like it should preclude the sale of other flavors. I don’t have an MBA, and they have been in business for 8 years, so what do I know, maybe this makes business sense. I admit these complaints are self-serving—I am just desperate to try their other flavors after tasting the great red velvet.

In any case, the Hubs and I visited the shop and got a slice to go (they also offered cupcakes, but the frosting-to-cake ratio appeared higher in the slice, so we naturally went that direction). The slice was huge–more than enough for two. It was really decadent and delicious. The cake wasn’t terribly chocolately (red velvet is supposed to be chocolate, right?), but it almost didn’t matter because the frosting was the star. It was a fluffy, rich, slightly cream-cheesey frosting. It was truly spectacular. It didn’t have that weird artificial, mouth-coating, Crisco-ish texture that many frostings suffer from. the sweetness is cut a bit by the nuts, and also, ingeniously, the cake itself. You see, if you took a bite of cake on it’s own, sans frosting, it was a bit on the salty side, in a not unpleasant way. The cake had great texture, and wasn’t oily like some other red velvet cakes I have had, but really sings when combined with the frosting.

Overall, the cake was a winner. I just hope some day Cake Man Raven decides to grace the public with other flavors. Soon.

708-a Fulton St.
Brooklyn New York 11217
(718) 694-2253

As I exited my lower Manhattan office building and crossed the street to Zucotti Park, a whistle from the World Trade Center construction site keened. It was lunchtime. A rumble in my belly, along with an advancing army of hardhats and suits in search of sustenance, told me I’d better plan my lunch strategy quickly.

However, looking at the wall of colorful food carts that lined the far end of the park, I was unexpectedly flummoxed. I had never eaten in the park before and had no clue what was good. I did a quick scan. There were a bunch of Halal carts offering chicken and gyro platters, a few fruit vendors, a farm stand selling pies and bread, and another cart obscured by a line of at least twenty people. I peered past the line to the sign on the cart which read “Sam’s Falafel.” A spicy aroma wafted by, triggering a reflexive “mmmmm.” I quickly ran to the back of the growing line that snaked through the park.

Sharp-looking office workers, camera-toting tourists, and massive construction workers waited on line patiently. I, on the other hand, with my stomach growling and my lunch break ticking away, fidgeted and surveyed the other stalls. None of them had a line like this. Others were getting their food quickly and happily devouring it within my sight.

“Why is this line so long?” I asked the guy in front of me.

“Sam’s is the best falafel.” he said matter-of-factly.

I waited two minutes more and looked ahead. There were still at least fifteen people before me. With my senses swimming in heady falafel smoke, I bailed on pita-wrapped chickpea nirvana and ran like a madman across Broadway to some more carts clustered around Noguchi’s red cube.

Once again, there were a bunch of carts but only one with an enormous line. I approached a man on the line. “Can you get good falafel here?”

The man shook his head, “No my friend, this one is good for chicken. That is where you get the best falafel.” My eyes followed his outstretched arm to a cart with a line only about five deep, Alan’s Falafel. I gave my thanks, joined the line and soon a man whom I assumed was Alan poked his head out of the cart and asked for my order.

“Hey, I heard you had the best falafel.”

Alan beamed, “You better believe it. Seventeen years around here.”

I ordered a falafel sandwich with everything. Alan smiled as he worked, proudly showing me each item as he tossed it in the pita: hummus, baba ghanoush, tzatski, ripe tomato, a big juicy hot pepper, hot sauce, and of course lots of plump falafel patties.

He wrapped it in foil and put it in a brown bag along with a crispy homemade pita chip. “You’re gonna to be back,” he said with a wink as I handed him three dollars.

I walked back to the park, plopped down and hauled out my sandwich. It was colossal. I unwrapped it and breathed in all the falafel goodness. The falafel was pungent and crispy with the perfect amount of herbs and heat. The fresh pepper exploded. The tomatoes were sweet. The hummus was savory. The smoky baba ghanoush, which featured big chunks of eggplant rather than the familiar mush, was a delicious addition.

I looked over at the long line for Sam’s Falafel and noticed that the people were staring jealously at me. “Alan’s,” I said and dreamily took another bite.

I went to Santa Fe weekend before last for a family reunion (The Hubs family) and also to celebrate our wedding anniversary. Santa Fe is a truly special place (it is The City Different, as they say), and if you haven’t been, I highly recommend you add a new folder to your “places to visit” file.

We happened to be there for the annual Fiesta, which started out with the burning of Zozobra, or Old Man Gloom. The ol’ sourpuss is pictured here, pre- (left) and during-burning (below).

The next morning, unburdened of all the accumulated gloom of the last year (of which, for me, happily there wasn’t much!), we went down to the historic Plaza where there were all sorts of food and craft booths set up. We ate lunch at a restaurant that is popular with local and tourists alike, The Shed. If you want to make like a local, ask for a fried egg on top of your enchiladas. I swear you will impress the waiter with your Santa Fe savoir faire. Unlike the other New Mexican restaurants around town, the shed serves garlic bread with every meal (in place of sopaipillas), which is great for sopping up their delicious red chile sauce (which is also available for purchase there for $7.95 for a 16 oz. jar).

You don’t need me to tell you that Santa Fe has a lot going for it, but the many muy delicioso New Mexican food restaurants might just be what I appreciate the most! I have bemoaned the lack of good Mexican food in New York before. One of my chief complaints is that not many places here get enchilada sauce right. Most places in NYC put a bright red tomato sauce on enchiladas, which, I dunno, may be authentic in some part of Central or South America, but every enchilada I ever had growing up in California is red- or green-chile-based (or maybe tomatillo). The same goes doubly in New Mexico, where people take their chile seriously, and the sauce goes on almost everything, not just enchiladas.

I have never had a bad chile in Santa Fe. I like a really hot chile, and if you do too, then I would recommend to you Guadalupe Cafe or Maria’s New Mexican Kitchen, which are two of my favorite restaurants there (though I hasten to add that there are so many places that I, a relative new comer to Santa Fe, have not yet tried). Their chile is not for the faint of heart, but their food is delicious.

In between reunion activities, we made it back down to the Plaza for the children and pet parade, which was totally hysterical. Afterward, we grabbed some food and beverages from some of the food stands. The Hubs and I shared a Navajo taco that was just okay. It didn’t have much flavor and isn’t worthy of much discussion or a photo here. I had a yummy papaya agua fresca, though, and The Hubs had a young coconut juice served en coque, and presented with this awesome parrot and pom-pom straw. Much to my disappointment, the Hubs “accidentally” tore the frou off the straw soon after I took the picture. He described the drink as “pungent” which I took to connote badness, but after I tasted it I knew what he meant. It was the most intensely coconuty coconut-flavored anything I have ever had. More coconuty than coconut. It is hard to explain. But try one some time.

The trip to Santa Fe was too short and I left, as I always do, longing to return. And this time, with a renewed and vigorous desire to move there. Some day!

With the Hubs working all day last Saturday, the Predicate and I decided to have a girl-only outing to Coney Island; the uncommonly good weather beckoned us out to the surf, sand, and boardwalk. Though there is much that allures at Coney Island (the beach, the skeeball, and of course Nathan’s Famous), I admit that unbeknownst to the Predicate, I went there with singular purpose: to have Italian ices at Ralph’s. My plan of action was to casually suggest we go to Ralph’s directly after disembarking the subway; and then, right before we leave, happen to stroll by again and say something along the lines of “Oh, here we are again. Whaddya know?” I had it all worked out.

On the way to the boardwalk from the subway station we came across this curious contraption outside of a Stillwell Avenue construction area. A kosher hot dog, um, vending machine. The machine is emblazoned with these words: “Kosher Cart, Hot Nosh, Hot Dogs, 24/6; grilled fresh and fast; any time, any where.” 24/6? Cute, but do they really unplug the machine on the shabbat? We sort of stood there for a while, as masses of people walked past on their way to the boardwalk, to see if anyone could resist the lure of a vending machine-produced meat snack. It turns out pretty much everyone can resist it. In fact, a kid who I estimated to be about 8 years old, stopped and looked at it for a moment and said, “Ew! Hot dogs from a vending machine??” Incredulous exclamations continued to issue from the mouth of this discerning child as his mother pulled him away by the arm down Stillwell Avenue.

Most people eat Nathan’s hot dogs, funnel cakes, and french fries when visiting Coney Island. For the more adventurous, there are many purveyors of clams and oysters–fresh, fried, however you want them. To be frank, I really try not to eat when at Coney Island (with the obvious exception of the ices), because most of the vendors there are sort of run down, and, well, I’ll just say it, dirty looking. That doesn’t stop others, obviously. I do love looking at all the shining examples of signage for these food hawkers, as it ranges from old-timey quaint to old-timey bizarre. The Astroland dog-faced hamburger guy (see thumbnail below) is a classic, but my favorite sign, hands down, is the one for a place called The Gyro Corner Clam Bar (go figure). The sign features clams dressed in tops hats and tails, similarly personified clams on the half shell, sitting down at a table for a romantic meal of cocktail sauce and lemons (see thumbnail below), and best of all, a muscle-bound, mustachioed dude grasping a beer in one hand, and coolly spinning a clam on the tip of the finger of his other hand, and exclaiming (or is he being called?), “Hey…Joey!” (which must be pronounced: “Eyh, Joe-EEE!”). Awesome. And also: huh?

After all these distractions, we finally reached Ralph’s Italian Ices, a very temporary tented stand set down on the wooden planks of the boardwalk itself. Ralph’s excels at fruit flavors. I am especially fond of the passion fruit flavor, which has just the right balance of puckery and sweet. I have never had a flavor here I didn’t like. You can’t go wrong with a fruit flavor. And the cookies and cream is truly amazing. The pistachio is great. But on this day I wanted something different. Something refreshing, something…minty. So, the mint chip it was. And boy was it delicious. Same flavors as in a great mint chip ice cream, but with a light, fluffy (yes, fluffy!), melty texture that is cold (natch!) and refreshing but doesn’t slow you down like heavy ice cream can. This was important as we were just getting going on the boardwalk. The Predicate had the spumoni ice, which was a mixture of amaretto, chocolate, and pistachio flavors. The amaretto was definitely dominant and tended to overpower the other players in the scoop. But if you like amaretto, and the Predicate does, then it is a winner.

We then went and hung out on the beach, where we had fun chatting and observing the habits of many loonies that inhabit this place. After finishing my ice, I fleetingly considered getting a heart tattoo with the name “Ralph” inscribed in it. While sunning, we were offered contraband beer (we denied), mango flowers, and churros by people doing their best to pull wheeled carts across the sand. Finally, on that increasingly windy day, we had swallowed enough sand that we decided to head back up the the boardwalk.

We walked over to the pier and watched people catching fish and sooty crabs. The creatures coming out of that New York City water looked primeval, like things that belonged in the Museum of Natural History rather than on a dinner plate. But that, apparently, was where most of these catches were destined. Shudder.

My stomach by this point was a little upset (Not from the ice! Can’t have been! Must have been the sand I ate!), so I gave up on a second round of ices, and the Predicate was none the wiser to my lofty scheme. We walked much of the length of the boardwalk to Brighton Beach, where there are some festive Russian indoor/outdoor restaurants facing the beach. I must make it back some day. But It was getting late. So sunburnt, exhausted, and filled with delicious icy memories, we decided to head home.

From afar, your eye might be fooled into thinking this gleaming metal cart in front of what is loftily referred to as the Target Plaza in Brooklyn is one of the several hot dog or Halal meat stands that populate the area. Indeed, on this particularly hot day, as I trudged closer, I wiped the sweat from my eyes, thinking it must be a mirage. But as I approached I saw that it was actually an oasis of semi-frozen beverages, and the effect on me upon seeing this was as if the heavens cracked open and the sounds of a choir of angels filled my ears. Such was the level of my anticipation.

I had never noticed the slushy cart here before. Its appearance at this location might be seen as a gutsy move, considering the ICEE-equipped Target just steps away; but honestly, the Target machines are more often than not on the fritz (yes, I check. regularly.), so maybe it was in fact the smartest move they could make.

The slushy flavors: Cherry, Blueberry, Piña Colada, Mango, Lemon-Lime. It doesn’t appear that there is flavor rotation, so don’t go there hoping they will have a lemon-basil slushy any time soon (though that would be tasty!). But these are good basic flavors, and the Target or 7-11 don’t normally offer more variety in any case. The guy working the slushy cart repeatedly called me “Ma’am,” which I was simultaneously charmed and insulted by (polite, yes, but I thought only old ladies were called Ma’am?). In any case, I can’t fault the dude. The service was swift and polite, and the cart seemed to be among the cleaner ones I have seen.

I opted for a small lemon-lime and mango combination, which looks awfully pretty with its tonal variegation, doesn’t it? The lemon-lime was very sweet and intensely lemony-limey, but the flavor was about as artificial as its neon green color. The mango, on the other hand was a winner. It tasted of fresh mango, bright and authentic. My guess is that it is made with real mango or mango juice, as opposed to artificial flavors, as the mango slushy costs a dollar more than the other flavors. But it was certainly worth the extra expense. I might try other flavors in the future, but the mango slushy is what will draw me back to this oasis on Atlantic Avenue.

Last week I was waiting for a train in Grand Central Terminal (fun fact few tourists know: it is not called Grand Central Station!) at noon, and after perusing the offerings, I decided on Cafe Spice Express for lunch as I remembered hearing good things about their University Place outpost when they opened years ago.

I had high hopes as the area around Cafe Spice is about the best smelling place in Grand Central (though perhaps this isn’t saying much), but I found it was a mistake to rely on a heady aroma and bygone raves of a full-restaurant cousin of a to-go joint.

I asked the server which dish was the spiciest and he pointed to the vegetable curry, so I chose that and the chana masala. Both dishes tasted vaguely spicy, but neither had the specific flavor I usually associate with chana masala or vegetable curry. Of course recipes for both dishes vary from place to place (my favorite samosa joint in the city–Pak Punjab on the corner or 3rd St. and 2nd Ave. in Manhattan–has very unusual chana masala that is richly spiced with cloves, for instance), but these tasted of everything and nothing, not to get too philosophical on you. The curry had some weird slimy thready bits in it, that I assumed was cabbage. But it was a strange addition and I was slightly suspicous of it.

Also, and this is the most unforgivable part: the rice was undercooked! Crunchy! I tried to capture this in the photo below, but not sure this is clear. The naked eye could clearly see the still-opaque white centers of the grains. I have been to many mediocre Indian restaurants, but never I have encountered the bedrock of the plate, the rice, severely undercooked. To round out the meal, inexplicably, was a big pile of oxidized iceberg. Yum.

All in all, not a meal I would care to repeat, especially as it was overpriced at a few coins under $10 (naan not included; they automatically put it on your tray as if it comes with the dish, but then they charge you for it! I love naan, but I thought that was a little shifty and so refused it on principle).

There are plenty of dining options in Grand Central, so next time I will resist the aromatic allure of Cafe Spice, and try my luck someplace else.

Cafe Spice
Grand Central Terminal
Lower Level

Many people don’t get too excited about non-dairy frozen desserts, but in New York, the “ice” is perhaps the most loved traditional treat of summer (sorry, Mister Softee, the ice has been around longer). As Italian ice, it is ubiquitously found at pizza parlors in its least inspired form throughout the city (brand is almost always Genos), but if you want the tastiest treat, decline the pizza parlor option. Instead go to traditional Italian neighborhoods and look for ices sold out in front of restaurants, pasta shops, or bakeries. Similar ices can been seen being hawked by street vendors with little carts on the street and called coco helado, especially in Latin neighborhoods. Sorbettos, sold at the many good artisanal gelaterias around the city, are more intensely flavored, often more exotic, and more expensive cousins of the ice. All three are very popular across the city, irrespective of socio-economic-cultural differences. Why this is, I can’t say. But I can say that in on a hot, humid, New York Summer day, the last thing I want is a fatty, cream-rich dessert, no matter how cold, that will fill me up and slow me down. No, only the decadent-in-flavor, but not fat content really appeals.

On Saturday, after my trip to the Farmer’s Market, I headed over to the new ice cream and coffee window at Provisions. They sell a limited number of Ciao Bella gelato and sorbetto flavors. Unfortunately, they do not carry any of Ciao Bella’s fantastic fruit-wine combo sorbetti; the wine lends an usual depth and dimension to the one-note fruit. But they did have mango (belying the chalkboard list with that flavor excised), lemon, raspberry, and strawberry. I got the mango. It was delicious. The texture is denser and gooier than your typical sorbet, and much less watery than your typical Italian ice, with nary an ice crystal in evidence. And the flavor was really, really mangoey. It was delicious, but true to its mango source, intensely sweet. If I had to do it over again, I would get half lemon-half mango, to cut the sweetness a bit.

On Sunday, after a delicious brunch at Frankies 457 on Court Street, we decided to head over for a little dessert at our favorite place for ices in the neighborhood: Court Pastry Shop (actually, it is my favorite ice place in the entire city, second only to Ralph’s, which has a seasonal stand on the boardwalk at Coney Island). On the way down Court Street, we got stuck in a 10-minute deluge, which we were forced to wait out under some scaffolding as we were mostly umbrella-less. But we persevered. Such is the Siren-like lure of Court Pastry Shop ices; once they are invoked, you cannot rest until you have that paper cup in hand.

They excel at the non-fruit flavors here. The chocolate, pistachio, and custard are the best. I do believe they have some milk in them, but they are still light and refreshing, unlike their heavy cream cousins at the Baskin Robbins (slash Dunkin’ Donuts) down the street. I usually go for the custard flavor here, a vanilla ice scented with sweet spices and studded with crunchy, honest-to-goodness hazelnuts (ever had hazelnuts in an italian ice before? I didn’t think so), but on Sunday I ordered half chocolate and half custard, all in a very generously sized small ice (the photo was taken after I had taken a few bites). The chocolate has a mild chocolate flavor with a hint of cinnamon, and is just a delicious as the custard flavor.

There are several places to buy ices in the immediate vicinity, but Court Pastry Shop is the only one where I have ever seen a line crowding the sidewalk. That tells you something about the quality of their unusual, almost decadent, ices.

Friday in my office is referred to, IMO sort of offensively, as “Oriental Friday.” This designation for the entire day is in honor of the Friday lunch menu which is almost always Chinese, Japanese, or, more recently, Thai. The Japanese restaurant we order from uses poor quality ingredients (and always seems to get my order wrong), the Chinese place makes just plain miserable food, but the Thai food (from Thai Basil) is sublime. I had wished to end Working Through Lunch Week on a high note with the Thai food, but alas, forces beyond my control chose indeed to betray the “Oriental” tradition of every Friday before this one and order pizza instead. Pizza! On a Friday! Zut!

We ordered from a joint called Planet Pizza. Considering they have dedicated their entire world to the pizza pie, you’d think they would make a half decent one. But no. (I actually ordered a calzone today, but I am familiar enough with their pizza to make this assertion about their pie.)

FRIDAY’s lunch–Planet Pizza, Greenwich, CT
Calzone with broccoli and mushrooms

This calzone is gigantic. That you can say for it. The mushrooms are not canned. That also you can say for it. (An aside: I never understood the canned mushroom concept. If ever there were an H20-unfriendly vegetable, the mushroom is it. What genius thought it would be awesome to drown mushrooms in water and seal them in tin? Now, onward…) The cheese was sort of sour (not sure if it was the mozzarella or the ricotta). The bottom of the calzone was soggy. The crust was flavorless. The sauce on the side was–there is no other word for it–insipid. Sigh! I don’t know about you, but I am totally over Working Through Lunch Week.

Moral of this one-week story: If you are on a road trip and pass through Greenwich around lunchtime. I advise you to keep driving to the next city. There has to be better food on the horizon. I hate to be so negative on the town. It really is lovely here. Quaint streets. Some beautiful residential architecture. A great little museum. And the trees growing bags of cash are almost in bloom this time of year. It has got a lot of things going for it, it really does. Lunch delivery is just not one of them.