Serve Chilled

Since college, my friend Pam been bouncing around New York (and a bit of Europe) working in the food industry. A lot of my fonder New York memories are visiting while the nights are warm enough to hang out and following Pam from food place to food place, not questioning a thing as she orders up a storm. If I had any talent in the kitchen, I'd like to think the food prep world could be for me. Late hours, no ties and suits, lots of tattoos, and a wide range of characters. Of course, I probably wouldn't have the work ethic required. Chefs slave over their career, as detailed in Bourdain's No Reservations, and my apron would probably be stripped from me by day two.

Pam used to work at this place called Room 4 Dessert where the head guy was a big figure in the molecular gastronomy movement, which mixes science and food for a unique eating experience. What this translates to is lots of foams and ices, experimentation away from traditional cooking techniques, and combinations of textures/flavors truly unexpected. I'd actually never been to Room 4 Dessert, even though all of my friends had gone multiple times. There was a period of three years, starting in 2004, when I didn't visit NY at all and I missed its heyday. R4D closed a few years ago but had a pop up revival Sunday night. Amit, being the go-getter that he is, got four tickets for the dessert and drinks pairing.

The old Room 4 Dessert space in Nolita is now Veloce Club, which serves as Amit's unofficial clubhouse. On normal nights, you ring a buzzer to get in and the service and drinks are top notch. We go there a lot. I mean, I only know about four bars in Manhattan and three of them are Veloce branded. The entire experience was interesting but I was really just excited to see Pam doing her amazing work. Watching friends do something they care about, job-wise, is something I don't get to do often. Pam's actually one of the only college friends I have who chose to buck the traditional career route. It makes for inspiring conversations.

Afterward, the group of us retired to the Mexican eatery next door for margaritas and miscellaneous (possibly malicious) gossip, my favorite kind.