I was going to write a review of Man of Steel, but something that is so agonizingly New York just popped up into my Internet vision that I had to share/rant about it.
There’s (apparently) a new craze sweeping the city called “cronuts”. In case you’re lucky enough to not know what these things are, allow me to ruin your day, here’s the official copy from the creator’s website (who sounds like a massive douchebag, for the record):
Half croissant, half doughnut — the pastry hybrid created by Chef Dominique Ansel that is taking the world by storm. After it’s launch on May 10, 2013, Cronut fans spanned the world from Berlin to Singapore, making it the most viral dessert item to date.
I’m not going to bother with formatting it properly, but the name “cronut” has is trademarked in every instance on the site. The long and the short of it is they’re a cross between croissants and—wait for it—donuts!
I know, I know, who gives a shit, right? Well, apparently a lot of people, because folks have been lining up as early as 5am to claim their maximum two cronuts per customer for the last two months. If that’s not stupid enough, supposedly a “black market” for cronuts has sprung up, and so-called “cronut scalpers” are waiting in line to buy the pastries then selling them for as much as $200 per cronut. If you want to go big, you can order 10 for $1,500.
Only in New York City would anybody be so blasé as to spend a month’s rent on fucking desserts, or even consider waking up in line at the crack of dawn to stuff your face with the culinary equivalent of Frankenstein’s Monster. Now, I’m no stranger to waiting in long lines (or paying high prices) for good food. I enjoyed Kogi BBQ tacos while I lived in Los Angeles, I’ve braved the wait at Roberta’s (not as bad as people will have you believe and there are bars nearby, so who cares), and I have even gotten in line for Franklin Barbecue at 9am (barbecue hipster alert: I remember when you could still get a ton of food from the Franklin trailer without getting up early. Hell, the first time I went, Aaron felt bad that I only got the scraps so he charged me like $6.00 for over a lb of brisket and the rest of the sausage. Anyway). However, those are foodstuffs that I either can’t or won’t make for myself or acquire anywhere else. I just don’t see the sense in waiting in line OR paying over $5 for a dessert, but I’m more into salt than sugar (insert blowjob jokes here).
You know what else the Big Apple needs to cut the shit about? Hot dogs. I mean, New Yorkers don’t even really bray about this, but the city still has this reputation as a place where you can get a great hot dog on every street corner. Wrong! Every cart in Manhattan is a stinking bucket of piss-water with sad, flaccid and soggy chunks of hog anus floating in it. And it’s yours for just $3.00! The only time I want one of these is when I’ve been drinking shots at Rudy’s and their hot dogs are FREE.
While we’re at it, tone it down a notch about your pizza superiority too (yeah, I said it!). Yes, New York has a large concentration of truly great pizza places, probably larger than any other city in the country. HOWEVER, a similar notion that you can’t go wrong with New York pizza is equally false, and New Yorkers who scoff at any pie made in an area code where you can rent an apartment for less than $1,000 need to ask themselves: how hard is it to really make a pizza? Also, the comparisons to Chicago are stupid. That goes for both of you.