Wake up older in a loft in New York City

This week Abby and I went to a press dinner and ate artisan pasta and filet mignon. Did you know that is Abby's favorite cut of steak? She'd be happy to tell you all about it. I tease her: "I heard you also think Porsche is a very fast car, and lobster is the top seafood."

I digress. During dinner I remembered the last food I had eaten was a pair of spicy chicken gas station sliders (surplus grocer-sourced, natch). I said to Abby, "Is it weird that trash food is keeping company with fine steak in my stomach?" To which she replied something supportive like "I bet your body is just happy that you give it so much good stuff."

I think about this notion regularly, though: the contrast of glam nightlife and global travel with our grubby home habits. Abby and I plant flags in all corners of the Taste Matrix. Don't know if there is a grander point here beyond "we contain multitudes." And are very lucky.

xo,

Jesse

We've been stocking up on iced coffee for the last few weeks and have reached bomb shelter hoarding levels on our closet floors. HOWEVER: Pictured here is one foul variety that will never darken our doorstep. "I literally can't even."

A reader sent this in. I'll give it 7 out of 10.

Our tiny post office (Triborough Station) is a beautiful anomaly: The lines are short and move briskly, and the staff is perpetually sweet and kind and patient. No, I am not being sarcastic.

The other day I had to mail a bunch of 1099s to freelance writers, a charmingly analog task. The clerk was such an excellent person, I'd probably marry her if she asked. I asked if she had any "fun" stamps to buy and she offered these love-themed bangers, then said "Darling what is more fun than love? The answer is 'Nothing.'"

I opened a Hal's seltzer at the airport, in front of many fellow travelers, and it fizzed all over my garments and handbag.

If this was just a hunk 'o ham I probably would've passed it over, but little cubes? Adorable! The problem is we haven't figured out a good dish to use this in. They suggest omelets, but I don't feel like it.

The last time I ate a Clif bar it was right before a cocktail date I was nervous about. I realized my stomach was empty so I grabbed the first food I saw in a bodega, wide-eyed and feral. ANYway I won't be eating these, they're for Abby, my Fit Fiance (TM). Please note the price: 24-packs typically cost 60 bucks!

This was initially going to be a "Left on the Shelf" item, as I was annoyed that Annie's was making posh pizza rolls for wine moms. But when I told Abby about them, she was like "Those sound great let's get some!" So now we have three packages in our freezer. Dollar a bag is pretty sweet, I suppose.

I wouldn't have bought this at a regular store but I value a chance to test it out on deep discount. If it's awful, we'll avoid it forever. And if it's okay, we're stocking up for the egg-pocalypse to come.

Sometimes it's just utterly baffling, where the salvage grocer sources their items. This German-language dish soap was made in Hamburg, presumably for consumption in Europe. Why would this bottle ever be shipped over here? Global supply chains are convoluted and strange — that's my best answer.

(Abby wants me to tell you that she is very good at learning German on DuoLingo. Currently in the number 4 position in the Diamond League or something.)